And So It Goes
by Rose Hunter
Summary: All he knows... if he can't relieve it, it grows... and so it goes... to save his life, he crawls like a worm from a bird. (indefinite hiatus)
1. The Reading of the Card

**Hello, and welcome to And So It Goes, my third SYOT. Yes, my third. So I can assure you, I have planty of experience with finishing them, so your characters won't be wasted :) The tributes who won the first two Games will be mentors in this story, and this chapter happens to be told from the POV of one of them. You don't need to have read my first two SYOTs to submit, that would be stupid -.- But if you want to see the full story of Abby (or Siggy, but he's not in this chapter) then just go to my profile and poke around, haha. The tribute submission form is on my profile, so you're going there anyway. For more information, go to my profile or PM me. As for tributes, please send them in through PM... that'd be nice. But review so I can hear what you think of the Reading of the Card! This is a Quarter Quell, after all ;)**

* * *

**Abby, Age 16, District 11 Mentor**

"Mommy," Kane giggles, pointing at the TV. The face of Caesar Flickerman appears on the screen, opening up the show. My son laughs even more, as he seems to think Caesar's voice is funny for some reason.

"That's Caesar Flickerman, he's very nice," I say, putting on a fake smile. On the inside I feel sick to my stomach. I want nothing more than to go back to bed and curl up under the bed sheets, but I can't. It's my second year of mentoring, and this year is a Quarter Quell. Today is the reading of the card. "Sit with me."

"Ok," Kane smiles, toddling over and climbing onto the couch with some effort. I wrap my arm around him and kiss his forehead.

"_As you know, this year is a Quarter Quell_," Caesar chuckles, and those in the crowd burst out cheering. "_Here to perform the Reading of the Card is President Snow and his grandson, Pierce_."

President Snow, in all his disgusting glory, marches on stage, the anthem of Panem playing in the background as he waves at the crowd. Behind him, a teenage boy about my age walks on stage, carrying a golden case and grinning with pearly teeth. I can tell it's a fake smile, though; he doesn't want to be there. He's tall with messy brown hair and sparkling blue eyes. Dressed in a white suit, he flashes a false beam at the audience.

"Boy," Kane giggles pointing at the President's grandson.

"I see," I nod, smiling. I hear a dog barking from outside and in a few seconds Animi runs in, his tail wagging. He's full grown now and all the white has disappeared from his fur, leaving a glistening brown coat, his yellow eyes sparkling. When we got back from the Games he was too docile to release back into the wild; I tried to let him go back in the forest but he wouldn't leave. He's the family pet now, I suppose. "Sit, Animi."

His tongue hangs out the side of his mouth as he sits down obediently, panting.

"Doggy!" Kane exclaims, patting Animi on the head.

"Animi is a wolf, sweetheart, not a doggy," I correct.

"Doggy!" He laughs. I sigh, and return my attention to the TV. I have the strangest family.

The president's grandson, Pierce, steps forward and opens the golden box in his hands. He tilts it downwards for a moment, giving the cameras a view of the rows of yellow paper envelopes. I grit my teeth as a wave of nausea washes over me at the sight of them. So many years, so many children that are going to die… I force it from my mind as the president gingerly plucks out this year's envelope with aging fingers. All grows silent as he breaks the seal that has been holding it closed, and opens up the folded paper inside.

He reads, "_On this anniversary, as a reminder to the rebels of all those driven insane by the horror of the rebellion, the male and female tributes have to have resided in a mental institution at some point in their lives_."

The color drains from my face and I feel matching teardrops racing down my cheeks. The TV flickers off and an eerie silence hangs over the room as I think about what is to come.

"Mommy?"


	2. Empty House

**The SYOT is officially closed! Yup, I decided that since I had enough awesome tributes that I would just close it now. I actually had to turn down some that I liked DX Anyway, no more submitting tributes, I've finished the list and everything! Sorry if you wanted to submit and you didn't get the chance to, but I'm too excited to wait any longer. And I'm really sorry if you submitted and your tribute didn't get in but... you knew they might not get in :/ So here's the list:**

D1 male: Cash Greenwood, 18, obsession with money  
D1 female: Sharada Styles, 16, dellusional  
D2 male: Zayne Xempia, 17, Cotard's Syndrome & narcissistic personality disorder & dellusional & cannibalistic tendencies  
D2 female: Sierra Wellings, 16, convinced she's a wolf  
D3 male: Jutter Orphin, 17, alcoholic  
D3 female: Lina Morisson, 15, paranoia & schizophrenia & suicidal  
D4 male: Conan Berkley, 18, megalomania & narcissistic personality disorder  
D4 female: Kimberely Sienna Grimes, 17, no one's really sure what's wrong with her... O.o  
D5 male: Prestwick Bain, 16, dellusional  
D5 female: Addie Burrows, 15, sex addiction  
D6 male: Chris Stone, 17, multiple personality disorder & schizophrenia  
D6 female: Katya Amane, 18, sadistic maniac  
D7 male: Riley Willows, 16, kleptomania  
D7 female: Karri Stone, 18, pleaded insanity so she wouldn't go to jail  
D8 male: Riann Bedloe, 15, depression  
D8 female: Anais Noel, 15, anorexia and bulimia nervosa  
D9 male: Noah Pitcher, 17, violent outbursts & homosexual  
D9 female: Maravista Evellet, 15, obsession with Harry Potter  
D10 male: Tobias "Toby" Donsy, 15, born in asylum  
D10 female: Jezebel Rosaline, 17, depression & multiple personality disorder & bipolar  
D11 male: Castiel Mindow, 12, obsession with the dead  
D11 female: Piper Cannes, 12, dellusional & Aspergers Syndrome  
D12 male: Zachary Madison, 14, claiming to have a third arm  
D12 female: Marcelline Jeggings, 18, depressed & sadistic & just creepy

* * *

**Siggy, Age 13, District 8 Mentor**

I stand in an empty field, the flowers swaying in the breeze and clouds lazily drifting by. I look up at the sun shining above me. The light warms my skin and I smile. For once I feel calm, happy even. When I open my eyes, however, a shadow falls across the sun and the world grows dark, the clouds turning blood red and the wind picking up, blades of grass whipping against my legs.

"It's your fault," A voice whispers in my ear, and I wheel around to find myself inches away from Lark… except she's different. Her skin is caked with dirt and dried blood, and her eyes are crimson, glinting in the shadows her tilted head casts over her face. "It should have been you."

"Lark, I'm sorry," I say, stumbling back a few steps. "It wasn't me… I didn't kill… I'm sorry…"

"It should have been you."

The ground disappears out from under my feet, the soil falling away like the rocks in the tunnel, and I'm falling into darkness, the icy fingers of terror clawing at my soul. Words of my past whisper in my ears until they blend together and I can't tell one voice from another anymore. They ring in my ears like a symphony of all that I regret.

My eyes flash open and I sit up abruptly, my hair drenched with sweat and my chest heaving. I look frantically around to find myself safely in my home at the Victor's Village. I lay back down on my mattress, staring at my clock. It's almost noon. I close my eyes, running my thumb over the scars on my wrist.

I pull myself up off the mattress and stumble into the hallway, then down the stairs into the kitchen. My footsteps are all that can be heard in my silent, empty house. I take a bowl of soup out of the fridge and stick it in the microwave to heat it up. Sitting on the marble countertop, I stare down at my arms. It's been awhile since I cut them, two weeks at least. My finger twitches as I stare at the kitchen knives only a few feet away. I want to do it, I need to… everything hurts… my world has gone dark and there's not a star in the sky that could bring the light back.

I told my mother when I got back from the Games that she couldn't live with me. I didn't want her to after she forced me into them. She was so angry, but I couldn't understand why. We were always living in Victor's Village; this house is an exact replica of the house I grew up in; almost hauntingly so. And it's not as if she cares for me. If she did, she wouldn't have made me volunteer.

She was over one day to drop off the last of my things. I'm not quite sure how it happened, but she saw the cuts on my wrists. They were fresh that day. She hasn't talked to me since.

The only person I've been talking to at all, actually, is the therapist that the Capitol provided for me. She calls me every once in awhile. She probably calls once a week, but I don't keep track of the days anymore. She thinks that I'm getting better, talk to my mother on a daily basis, and have a nice girlfriend. That couldn't be farther from the truth.

The microwave beeps and I slide off the counter, grabbing a spoon and heading into the living room with my soup. I sit down on the couch and turn the TV on. I should have known what I would find here. The Reading of the Card was last night; the entire Capitol is excited for the Games to begin in a few months. It's no surprise when I see myself on screen, about to get shot in the Bloodbath. Lark saved me then, stopped Bo from shooting me. She took care of me… now she's gone.

I don't move a muscle; just stare at the television with dark eyes. We race out of the tunnels and the Careers are left alone in cavern. Stella and Clay morn Claudia's death, and Altair pointed out that Oak died as well. A horrifying pain stabs at my stomach when I think about how all of them died just so I could live. The playback of my Games drags on for several hours, but I don't pay much attention to the time. It's almost sundown when Dmitri takes his final breaths… and the sound of his agony is the only thing that can be heard in my empty house.


	3. Radioactive - Reaping

**Hey guys! So, why did it take me a whole month to write this chapter? Well... thats because its really, really long. I wanted to give each tribute a lot of focus and attention right off the bat, so that's what I did. It wasn't too hard to write a decent amount for each tribute, because I love them all so much. So read this when you have time to read it. After this, I should be on my usual chapter schedual, which means about ten days between chapters. I've decided to do songs for chapters before the Games begin, as well as during the Games, so the song in this chapter is Radioactive by Imagine Dragons. Since Imagine Dragons is his favorite band, this chapter is dedicated to xebain. He's new to Fanfiction, so everybody go welcome him! His first story (the only one thats posted) is about a video game, but you don't have to have played it, or know anything about it to read it. It's really good, guys, go read it!**

**Review and tell me: Do you like how I wrote your tribute? Which tributes are your favorites? Who are you already excited to see die? Who is the creepiest to you? Who do you think will die in the blood bath? Any predictions on the plot line I'm already starting to work out?**

* * *

**Cash Greenwood, Age 18, District 1**

I wake up to the sound of a young girl shrieking happily and jumping on my bed. "Cash, wake up!" She giggles. I throw the sheets off of me, laughing a little as I chase her around the room.

"I'm gonna get ya," I grin, wrapping my arms around her waste and falling into a chair. I tickle her stomach and she chortles loudly, her long hair flying in my face as she tries half-heartedly to escape my grasp.

"Cash," A sharp voice pulls us out of our merriment and we both freeze. My brother, Wayne, stands in the doorway, his dark eyes narrowed. He's the only one in the family with dark eyes; the rest of us have deep blue ones. He looks almost exactly like me, other than that. He's tall and has the same fair skin and dirty blonde hair. "I need to talk to you."

He acts totally different from me, though.

_ I'm waking up_

"Sure," I frown, setting my little sister, Steph, down and walking over. "What's up?"

"What's with you?" He scowls. "Do you know what you're doing? You're corrupting my little sister."

"Your little sister," My eyes narrow, but then a smile grows across my face. "You're jealous."

"_You're_ a bad influence," He growls.

"You're just jealous because Steph likes me better," I smirk. "You like me better than Wayne, right Steph?"

"Yep!" She grins, running past us as she chases our pet cat down the hallway.

"Besides, how am _I_ a bad influence?" I ask.

"You're selfish, immature, greedy, disloyal, oblivious to those around you, and… you're addicted to money, Cash!" He exclaims, ending in a yell. Steph freezes further down in the hallway and looks back at us, her eyes wide with worry.

"You're upsetting her," I say quietly.

"You're going to make her just like you, and I'm not letting you do that to our little sister," He hisses, glancing at Steph. "Just go get ready. Just remember, it was your greed that made you able to volunteer."

"That's a good thing," I say.

"Is it?" He asks, stalking down the hallway and turning into his room, slamming the door behind him. I stare at it for a second before heading back to my own, closing the door slowly behind me and resting my head up against the doorframe.

_ To ash and dust_

He's right about one thing: it was my 'greed' that got me put in the asylum to start with. I tried to steal the mayor's diamond earrings—while she was wearing them—and she caught me. I explained that they were calling to me. I meant that as a metaphor, obviously, but the doctors wouldn't hear it. But they were just gorgeous… they were worth quite a lot, no doubt. I know a guy down in the slums who'd love to buy them… seven grand, at least. It was definitely worth attempting.

_ I wipe my brow_

My father's a Victor; I know how much award money they get when they win. I need that, desperately. I don't have many people left in my life… my sister, my friend and my girlfriend, but that's it. My brother hates me and my parents barely even know I exist. And those that I do have will leave eventually, but money… it can't just get up and leave, like they can. There's a certain security that comes with knowing that things are going to stay right where they are, unless you decide to move them.

Money can't _buy_ you happiness. Money _is_ happiness.

**Sharada, Age 16, District 1**

Somewhere outside my window is a boat… And on that boat are sailors. Maybe one of them is a girl… she'd be stronger then the men, I like to think. It'd be humorous to watch her beat them all at arm wrestling. She's probably the captain, too. That'd be awesome.

And somewhere out there, there's a squirrel, leaping between the trees in the forest. It must be so cool to be that squirrel, the wind blowing through its fur as it propels itself through the air. Maybe that squirrel thinks it can actually fly but it's just bad at it so it crash lands a lot. And then it tries to talk to the birds but they're really stuck-up so they just laugh at it and fly away. I always though birds seemed stuck-up.

_ And I sweat my rust_

"Sharada," A familiar voice snaps me out of my daydreams. It's very hard to do that, so if it hadn't been my sister speaking, I probably wouldn't have paid attention.

"Marie," I smile, getting up off my cot next to the window and making my way over to the door. I finger-comb my wavy blonde hair with one of my pale hands, and rub my blue eyes with the other. The door opens and I find myself in my sister's embrace. "Why are you hugging me so tightly?"

"The chance of you or me getting reaped is so much higher than usual," She replies. Oh, right, only those who've been in a mental institution have a chance of being reaped. Marie was put in here for a few days after she had a breakdown. It was her boyfriend's fault. He threw a bottle at her head.

"Yes," I say. "I seem to have forgotten… today is the Reaping?"

She nods, and I drift off in thought. Somewhere there is a field of purple wildflowers dancing in the wind, under the warm light of the sun. I would love to be there now, twirling and laughing. I'm there in my mind, and I've left all my worries behind. Not that I have many.

_ I'm breathing in the chemicals_

"Sharada," Marie's voice snaps me out of my daydream.

"Sorry," I say, pulling out of our hug. I tilt my head to the side. "Why ever are you here, sister?"

She grins, probably because of my odd speaking patterns. Or, at least, I've been told they're odd. I don't really care what other people think of how I talk, though. "I brought your dress for the reaping." She reaches into her bad and pulls out a blue sundress with a white ribbon that ties in the back wrapped around the waist, along with a pair of white flats with little white bows on the toes.

"It's very pretty," I say honestly, smiling.

"Alright, time's up," A guard outside the door. Marie hands me the dress and gently kisses me on the forehead.

"Good luck," She smiles. "I love you."

"I love you, too, sister," I say as the door closes.

**Cash, Age 18, District 1**

"Hello, handsome," A teasing voice says behind me and I turn around to see my best friend, Marc, grinning at me. He has smooth, tan skin and messy black hair. His green eyes glitter as he gives me a one-armed hug, lingering a little longer than he should have.

"Hey," I say simply, and he falls in beside me naturally as we walk towards the Reaping, in similar black tuxedos. My past is a simple one… I didn't have much as a child. My parents didn't pay attention to me, and my brother always hated me. My sister was too young to understand much of anything. All that I had was money, material objects… and Marc. Maybe that's what made me bisexual. When I was younger I always thought I'd never have anyone other than him. We'd always had an on-and-off relationship. Then something changed, something about him… he got a girlfriend, so I did, too. I got over him, with time… but I never quite got over being bisexual.

"Cash," A voice says behind me, and I turn around in time to catch a kiss from my girlfriend, Jessica. She grins from ear to ear and intertwines her fingers with mine as we continue to walk. I know how she feels about me, and I know what I've told her I feel about her… But I just don't know.

We walk in comfortable silence to the Reaping. Jessica and Marc hug me good luck before disappearing in the crowd of people watching from the edges of the courtyard. I slide into the line to check in.

After they prick my finger, they slide a red plastic band onto my wrist. It's about an inch in width and has neon colored circles at intervals of about one centimeter around the bracelet. I ask, "What's this?"

"It's so the escort knows you're eligible for the Games, if you feel the need to volunteer," The lady who took my blood answers before shooing me away. I find my way to the eighteen-year-olds' section and slide in amongst the other boys, folding my arms. As expected, there aren't that many people eligible for the Reaping this year. There are about ten boys in each age group, the same number qualifying for girls.

I glance over at the girls, studying them. There are a few that must have been cured, but most of them look completely bonkers. However, it doesn't appear as if any of them intend to volunteer. That should be interesting.

"Welcome," Our escort grins widely, and I roll my eyes. I've always hated them. They play the video, which may have been interesting for my first two or three Reapings, but has grown old over the years.

"Without further ado, onto the girls," The escort says, trotting over to the girl's bowl in her spike-heel shoes. Her hand goes straight to the bottom of the bowl and snatches up a single slip almost the second it reaches it, before she returns to the microphone giggling. "This is just so exciting! And the female for District One is Marie Styles!"

"I volunteer!" A voice screeches, cracking right in the middle of it, and a stunning girl races up onto the stage, her eyes wide.

_ I'm breaking in_

"Oh my, we have a volunteer," The escort says, clearly faking surprise. "What is your name my dear?" The girl doesn't respond, as she seems to be staring off into space. "My dear?"

_ Shaping up_

"Oh, my name is Sharada," She says into the microphone, snapping out of… whatever that just was. "Sharada Styles."

"Well it's nice to meet you, Sharada," The escort says. "Now, onto the boys."

I don't even let myself hear who is reaped, only shout, "I volunteer!"

**Sierra, Age 16, District 2**

"Sierra," I hear one of the nurses say through the metal door or my asylum cell. "Today is the day of the Reaping. You have to go."

She cracks open the door and looks in tentatively. I sit up, running my fingers over my tail as I do. It's a fake wolf tail that clips on to the back of my pants, the same shade of red as my hair. The nurse steps inside, a dress folded in her hands. She begins to walk towards me. The white-coats must have told her that I'm improving, for some reason. Normally she wouldn't dare try to come near me. I don't like it. When she's halfway across the room I bare my teeth and growl. Over time I've filed my canine teeth into fangs. I know how vicious they look, and I also know how much damage they can do.

_ Then checking out_

"I'll just leave this here…" She says hastily, dropping the dress on the ground and darting out of the room. Before the door closes she calls back, "Be ready in ten minutes!"

The door closes and I fall back on my cot, letting my eyes flutter closed. I don't like this bed, and the stiff sheets feel unnatural against my skin. I don't sleep very well at night. The heating system makes the already stuffy air feel horrid, and I can't see the stars… I hate it.

I miss the feeling of the forests' cold air as I sleep, and I miss the feeling of warm, fur-covered bodies around me, our chests rising and falling as we breathe.

I only stayed with the wolf pack for a month before my parents found me, but… it changed things. I see everything so differently now. It made me realize I belong in the forest with my pack, trees blurring past us as we chase our prey, my feet pounding against the leaf-covered ground.

Here in the asylum, though… I am living in pure misery. We only get to go outside once a month. I'm trapped in this metal cell for most of the day, the only light comes from out in the hallway. My escape attempt a few months back got me put as deep in the asylum as they could. I only gave that guard permanent scars when I bit him, its not like he died or anything. Scars are things to be proud of. They show what you've been strong enough to survive.

_ Of the prison bars_

Standing, I make my way over to the dress and lift it up. It's a simple, fluttery white sundress. It looks like my mother's style… But of course, she doesn't know what's going to happen today. I'm going to volunteer. And after I win the Games, I'm going to return to District Two and they won't be able to keep me in this mental institution anymore. I'll be free to return to the forest, where no one will find me.

**Zayne, Age 17, District 2**

"Thank you, darling, and, dare I say, you look absolutely delicious today," I say, grinning at the nurse as she leads me down the hallway to join the others in heading to the reaping. And oh, she does look delicious. I haven't had a bite of human flesh in two years now. What a shame, it tastes so delightful.

"Alright, shut up, zombie boy," Another nurse says, coming up behind me and hitting me upside the head. I don't care, of course. I'm immortal, after all.

"How dare you call me a zombie, foolish mortal," I growl, narrowing my eyes at her. "I'll outlive you all! I will watch you die! Then you'll regret it."

"That's nice, kid," The second nurse rolls her eyes, pushing me out the front door of the asylum to stand amongst the other inmates. I'm in a black suit, with no attempt made to tame my messy black hair. My tan skin matches my dark eyes as I scan the scene. There is roughly about ten or fifteen of us for each age. That's nice.

"What's _wrong_ with him?" The first nurse whispers.

The second nurse snorts, "He was born without pain receptors, or something. He had an abusive father who was found dead in a lake a few years back. I guess that messed him up enough to convince him that he was dead, because he couldn't feel pain, but somehow his body is still functioning… So he thinks he can't die."

_ This is it_

"You're right," I say turning to her, smiling coldly. "I can't die."

"You're an idiot," She growls, stalking away. The nurses begin to lead us towards the Reaping, constantly reminding us to stay together. People ogle at us as we walk by, like we're some sort of freak show. Well, some of us are, I suppose. There's always the boy who walks on only his hands, and of course the wolf girl, Sierra, skulking around the back of the group and growling at people, occasionally snapping her teeth at them. She has gentle features and soft skin, so that innocent-looking white dress would have been stunning on her if her amber eyes weren't narrowed murderously. She's a little too fierce for my taste. I like them sweet and corruptible.

"Next," The lady says, and I step up to the table. I hadn't even really noticed I was waiting in line, I was so busy thinking. I outstretch my hand and she takes me by the wrist, pricking my finger. I smile to myself as blood trickles from the wound. I didn't even feel a thing. She slides a red wrist band onto my arm and motions for me to go into the crowd.

I slide in amongst the other seventeen-year-old boys and look around. The buildings in town square are monumental, gray stone buildings, towering over us, pillars supporting the roof overhanging the front door on almost every one. Huge flat screens are mounted on the structures as well, showing live feed of the bustling crowd.

The crowd falls silent as our escort makes her way on stage, the clicking of her heels the only thing that can be heard as she approaches the microphone. An overwhelming sense of excitement hangs in the air. Everyone wants to know who the tributes will be, who will win for them this year.

It's going to be me.

"Welcome to the Reapings, everyone," She laughs, waving to the audience with a pale hand. Her name is Jello, if I remember correctly. She's been the escort for District Two since I was thirteen, and she doesn't even have to pretend to love it. She's the escort for the District with more victories than any other District, and she's quite proud of that. "Are you excited?"

The crowd roars and I join in, letting out several whoops.

_ The apocalypse…_

"Well, then," She laughs. "Why don't we get started with a little message from the Capitol?"

As usual, I almost fall asleep during the video. It's so boring, and demons such as I are not easily entertained. I miss the burning fires of Hell, the screams of sinners in pain. Oh, it's such a beautiful place…

"Well, wasn't that lovely? Now for the girls…" She smiles, walking over to the bowl for the females. Her hand hovers over the slips of paper for a moment and she winks at the crowd, teasing us. She needs to hurry up, I don't have all day. Finally, she picks a single slip and trots back over to the microphone.

She barely gets the name out before an unfamiliar voice shouts, "I volunteer!"

My eyebrows rise in surprise as Sierra pads on stage, her light feet making no noise as she moves like a shadow up to our escort.

"And your name, dear?" Sierra doesn't reply, just reveals her dagger-like canine teeth, her eyes glinting dangerously. Someone offstage calls her name out and Jello nods. "Sierra Wellings, well, you certainly seem like quite a fighter. Onto the boys…"

Seemingly eager to be able to take a few steps away from the wolf girl, Jello scurries over to the Reaping bowl for the males, snatching a single slip of paper and grinning at the crowd as she reads it aloud.

"I volunteer!" I yell, not waiting for a reply before darting onto the stage, beaming proudly and waving at the crowd. I go straight to the microphone. "My name is Zayne Xempia, and I shall be District Two's victor!"

The crowd roars and I stand up straight and tall, basking in the spotlights. This is where I belong.

**Jutter, Age 17, District 3**

I watch from the couch with my eyebrow raised as my younger brother slowly closes the door behind him, not making as sound as he tried to sneak back into the house.

"And where have you been?" I ask, and he jumps, looking like a deer in the headlights. He doesn't say anything. "You were hunting, again, weren't you?"

"I…" He mutters and I stand, my eyes narrowed.

_ I'm waking up_

"This is ridiculous," I say, snatching the bag that was slung over his shoulder and throwing it open, revealing the dead squirrel inside. "You don't need to do this; we're the sons of a Victor. We have plenty of money!"

"It's not that big a deal," He shrugs, grabbing the bag and shouldering past me.

"Mom died because of your hunting addiction," I growl.

"And you're in the reaping because of yours," He says, looking back at me. For once, I can't think of what to say. "Alcoholism and compulsive gambling? Really, big brother? Great example you are."

"You fell in love with hunting before I even made my first bet," I say, but he's already left the room. I sigh, running my fingers through my brown hair, squeezing my brown eyes shut as I do so. Normally I can calm my nerves on the Reaping day by telling myself that there's no chance of me getting reaped. Not today, though. Today, the chances of that happening are terrifyingly high.

**Lina, Age 15, District 3**

"There," My mother says in an annoyed tone, standing back. "You look great. Shame you couldn't have put it on yourself, though." I look down at the black velvet dress she put me in. It has spaghetti straps and is a bit tight around my chest, but extremely loose and fluttery around my legs. I wear black three-inch heels that I can barely walk in, and thick, black mascara makes my blue eyes look even bigger than before. My long brown hair is put up in a high ponytail that I can't keep myself from messing with whenever my mother turns away. It bugs me.

"Alright, let's go," Mom huffs, turning and motioning for me to follow her. I trail behind her, picking at the skin on my arm with my long nails. I know my mother is angry at me for going insane because of what happened… she thinks that it's silly. I don't understand, but I know she's only angry because she loves me.

"_How do you know she loves you_?" Madilynn whispers in my head.

"I know she loves me," I growl back, quietly, so my mother doesn't hear. "She's my mother, now be quiet, they'll hear you."

"_Don't you want them to hear_?" She asks. "_Then they'll know you aren't crazy, and that I'm really here_."

"They wouldn't be able to wrap their minds around it," I reply, ignoring the dull pain between my eyes that comes whenever Madilynn speaks. We walk down the dark hallways, passing metal door after metal door in the asylum. All the hallways look the same, but my mother knows her way around by now, and she leads me straight to the front door. She throws it open and I leap backwards, the light burning my eyes.

_ I feel it in my bones_

"Come on, Lina," Mother says impatiently. I nod, forcing myself to walk forward into the blinding light. The sun warms my pale skin in an almost uncomfortable way. I don't like it.

As I follow my mother through the crowds of people towards the Justice Building, I can't help but get lost in my memories. The day of the Reaping, two years ago, Madilynn's name was reaped. She was my best friend, and I should have volunteered for her. She died because I didn't, it was my fault. And now she speaks in my head, speaking to me, haunting me… she punishes me now for not saving her then. It was the biggest mistake of my life.

"Go on," Mom says, giving me a little push towards the table where the strange people sit, ready to tear open my fingertip. I don't want to go up to that table; I don't want to, I don't want to…

"Go up to the table," Madilynn whispers in my head, pain stabbing at my temple.

"Okay," I say pitifully, holding back tears as I stumble over to the table and hold out my hand. I have to bite my lip to keep myself from screaming out when the man draws blood. My vision blurs as he roughly shoves a red band onto my wrist and points me in the direction of the crowd. I make my way to the fifteen year olds section.

One of the other girls bumps into me accidentally and I shriek, "Don't touch me!" Grabbing at my flesh where we made contact and backing away from her, my eyes wild. I wrap my arms around my torso and lower my head. I can't take it anymore, and reach up with trembling fingers to pull the hair tie out, letting it fall to the ground. My wavy hair falls in front of my face and my head throbs. Everything sounds as if I'm underwater and my vision is blurry whenever I open my eyes.

_ Enough to make my systems blow_

"Lina Morisson," My name is the only thing that I hear, and I raise my head slowly. Everyone is staring at me. My arms fall to my sides as the colorful lady on stage waves me towards her. I've been reaped.

"And now I'll get my revenge," Madilynn hisses as I walk up the steps. I have to lean on the handrail for support as I pull myself up the flight of stairs. I almost trip several times on the short walk across the stage over to the escort. I look at the audience, all eyes on me, as I stand in their judgmental gazes, trembling. The escort goes to lay a comforting hand on my shoulder but I slap it away, taking several steps away from her and clutching my head in my hands as another wave of agony washes over it.

I vaguely hear the name, "Jutter Orphin!" ringing through the air, and suddenly someone takes my wrist gently, guiding it into their own hands and shaking it tenderly. I look up to find myself looking into thoughtful brown eyes, my pain reflected in his. This must be Jutter, the other tribute… he will be my Thaddeus. And Madilynn will finally have her revenge.

**Kimberley, Age 17, District 4**

I lay on my cot, my head propped up on my hand as I doddle on the concrete walls with the marker I found in the courtyard last weekend. I grin as I finish the last turtle in my string of turtles. Now there is a line of turtle drawings wrapping around my entire room! Ha! I'm so proud. I stayed up all night working on it, but it was definitely worth it. I just have to convince one of the nurses to give me glitter glue so I can color them in, and then they'll be sparkly!

"Kimberley, its time to go," A nurse says, opening my door. I'm in a glittery blue dress that reaches my knees and ties in the back, as well as my seashell bracelet. I'll never take that bracelet off. It was the only thing besides my baby blanket that was with me when the people at the orphanage found me on their doorstep. I was only three months old. The nurse's eyes bulge.

_ Welcome to the New Age, to the New Age_

"What did you do?" She breathes, gaping at the walls.

"I made it prettyful!" I exclaim, leaping off the bed and bouncing over to her. "Don't you just love it?"

"Sure," She grumbles. "Let's just go…"

"Okay," I beam, sliding into my strapped brown wedge sandals and prancing behind her as we head towards the entrance. As we pass the Western side of the asylum, the rooms are more like cells, with barred doors. I believe this is the section for the criminally insane. They had me in here for a few weeks after I tried to take over with an army of turtles… Oh, such glorious memories. A man in one of the cells reaches out and shakes his fist angrily at me.

"OMG I love this game!" I shriek happily, making my hand into a fist as well. "Rock, paper, scissors, shoot!"

His hand stays in a fist, and mine flattens out.

"Yay, I win!" I whoop, throwing my arms out to the side like an airplane and running around in victory circles.

"Kimberly, we're going to be late," The nurse frowns.

"Oh, right sorry!" I squeal, darting after her. "Wait… where are we going again?"

**Conan, Age 18, District 4**

There is a certain level of ignorance around me, and it never ceases to amazing me. How truly blind people are to the world around them would be shocking, if it wasn't something I have known all along. I've always been able to see through people's facades, and no one has ever been able to see through mine. Such is life.

Looking at the clock on my bedside table, I close my psychology book and stand on long legs, making my way over to my closet. Though a black tuxedo may be rather cliché, it's fitting for the occasion and won't draw unwanted attention to me until it's warranted… until I volunteer, that is. I step in front of the mirror. My black hair falls in my onyx eyes, and I grit my teeth.

Forced to live a life amongst those of such stupidity… Oh, yes, they may outnumber me in quantity, but not quality. Oh day, however, I will rise to power and take my rightful place as president of Panem, above all the peasants I'm forced to surround myself with today. For all the people of the districts are pawns of the king, the Capitol, locked in an everlasting game of chess.

And I _will_ be king.

"Are you ready to go, Conan?" My younger sister, Ellie, asks, standing in the doorway of my room.

"Actually, yes," I say, straightening out my tie and walking over to her. I'm rather tall, so I find myself looking down at her. Her eyebrows are furrowed in worry and her eyes look red. Bending down, I give her a light kiss on the cheek. "You know I'll come back."

_ I'm radioactive_

"Yes," She sniffs.

"Then there's no reason to worry," I say, smiling faintly. This brightens her up, as I rarely show emotion.

"Okay," She nods, and we walk towards the front door. Father is already there, checking his reflection in a hand mirror. He has to look good. He _is_ the mayor, after all.

"Alright, Ellie lets go," He says in his deep voice, barely sending a glance my way. My jaw tightens as he gives Ellie a little hug and holds the door open for her, not even looking to make sure I'm following them. Our house is right next to the stage and the crowd cheers as we exit our house. I put on a fake grin, like I have done so many times before, and wave at the audience. I hate them all, foolish, shallow people with nothing to do all year-round than to watch reruns of past Games.

Frankly, I don't see the point. All life is, is just one big game. We are all merely players that either win… or lose in the end.

_ Radioactive_

**Kimberley, Age 17, District 4**

"Oh, look at the pretty lady!" I exclaim as a very colorful Capitol woman walks on stage. The girl standing next to me in the crowd glances at me uneasily. "She's so sparkly!"

"Um, yeah," The girl nods, taking a few steps to the side.

"Oh, don't leave me," I frown. "_Baby, come back! You can blame it all on me!_ You're hair is the color of butterscotch! Does it taste good?"

"J-just leave me alone," She says, almost tripping over her feet as she stumbles to the other side of the seventeen-year-olds' section.

"Okay, bye," I wave, grinning. She seemed nice.

"Wasn't that lovely?" The lady asks into the microphone. Oh, the moving picture thingy must be over already. I missed it? Darn, that's my favorite part! Oh, look, sparkly lady is talking again. "Without further ado, onto the girls,"

She reaches into the giant fish bowl and pulls out a single slip of paper, taking it with her back over to the microphone. "Kimberley Sienna Grimes!"

_ I raise my flags_

Did I win something? Yay, I won the trip to Aruba! Oh, wait, no, this isn't a lottery, this is the Reaping. Oh pooh. Wait, then why is everyone laughing? Oh well, they must be happy for me! I get to go to Aruba after all.

"Thank you," I grin, waving at the crowd energetically as I bound up onto the stage.

"Well, it's nice to meet you, Kimberley," The escort giggles.

"It's so nice to meet you, too, sparkly lady," I smile.

"And now for the boys," The escort says, laughing a little. Retrieving one slip of paper, she returns to the microphone and reads a name.

"I volunteer," A lone, cold voice says, ringing above the chatter of District Four. The unthinkable happens: District Four goes _completely_ _silent_. He walks forward onto the stage. Even my thoughts seem to slow. There's something about his presence that's so dark and absolutely terrifying.

_ Don my clothes_

"A-and what's your name, sweetheart?" The escort says, and the entire district seems to be holding their breath.

"Conan," He replies, his tilted head casting shadows over his face as he smirks slightly. "Conan Berkley."

**Prestwick, Age 16, District 5**

"Oh, Morgan, my dear feline, how the world has fallen." I sigh, running my fingers through my cat's fur as I watch the scene outside unfold. The man who moved here from Seven a year ago, I believe his last name was Keating, seems to be in quite a predicament. It seems he was just holding one of his 'secret' rebel meetings when the general public became aware of what was going. He's begging them to see reason, but they don't listen. This District's key emotion is fear, and they're more scared of the Capitol than they ever were of that snake mutt that used to attack every night. So the first stone is in the air in seconds, and then the rest of them follow.

"And down goes the last of the Keating's," I murmur as he falls, blood soaking the soil.

Morgan lets out a meow and leaps onto my lap, her yellow eyes looking up into my dark ones. Outside, the peacekeepers arrive and scare away the crowd, shooting one man in the leg as the others scatter. He limps away, clutching at the bloody limb with his free hand while the other one still holds a jagged stone.

_ It's a revolution_

"Yes, you are right, my familiar," I admit. "Least I escaped my own encounter with the masses…"

I absentmindedly run my fingers over the spot on my arm where the scarring is, remembering the licking of the flames against my skin and the screams of anger from my neighbors as they attempted to burn me at the stake. For being different. For being a witch boy.

_ I suppose_

"'Tis not my favorite memory," I say quietly.

"Prestwick, its time to go," My mother says, opening the door and stepping inside. I turn in my chair, holding Morgan in my arms. My mother's eyes are puffy and her mascara, the only makeup she can afford, is running.

"You've messed up your makeup, mother."

"I know," She nods, wiping her eyes but only smearing it more. "But I was just… remembering things…"

"Mother," I say softly, hoping my tone will tell her not to continue.

She goes on anyway, "Will you ever forgive me for leading the chorus in your execution?"

Oh, of course, mother, it'll be so simple to forgive you for being the one to throw a torch down at my feet. I think this bitterly to myself as I say, "'Twill be hard to forget."

"Yes, but… do you think you can forget it?"

I find my hand over the scars on my torso again, and I remind myself that politeness is just deception wrapped in pretty packaging. "I'm afraid not. Just as the scars strewn across my skin will never disappear, neither will the memories. I fear that they shall remain 'til my body decomposes under the earth."

"I see," She says, a flicker of her usual annoyance appearing in her eyes again. "But you could at least talk like a normal person!"

"No, 'tis not fitting for a witch boy of my standards to speak in your modern tongue, but I do not look down on you for it." I give her hand a small squeeze as I slide past her into the living room, Morgan draped lazily over my shoulders.

"A black suit, really?" My sister says, raising an eyebrow as I enter the living room, finger-combing my black hair. Sarcastically, she carries on with, "Could you have been any more original?"

I ignore her, heading to the kitchen and getting a cup of milk. I drink half of it before holding it up and letting Morgan lap up some for herself. "Don't drink too much, Morgan, you'll get sick."

I get a snippy mew in response.

**Addie Burrows, Age 15, District 5**

"Hurry it along," One of the male nurses growls at me as all of us asylum inmates make our way towards the Reapings.

"Hey, don't rush me, slow can be fun, too," I say, winking at him. He grumbles something under his breath before stalking away to go bother somebody else. Well he was a total let down. I haven't had any real fun in two weeks now. That's just wrong.

To the glorious Reaping (sarcasm) I wear a very stunning dress that I fashioned myself out of my bed sheets, since the one my mother wanted me to wear was too dowdy and not nearly revealing enough. So my bed sheet dress wraps around me in waves of fabric, the top low and sleeveless and the skirt high, showing off my long legs.

When we reach the crowds of people I can't help but let out a little yelp in excitement. Guys everywhere… Surely they won't be able to keep track of me that successfully in this mess. I scan the crowd before my eyes land on a tall, emo-looking boy about my age, a cat perched on his shoulders. Now there's no way that boy has ever even seen any action; I might just have a chance with that one.

I slip out of our little group and approach him, flipping my blonde hair and batting my hazel-green eyes. He doesn't notice me approaching at first, but when he does I swear I hear him say something along the lines of, "Oh my, a wandering harlot." His cat lets out a meow, as if responding to this.

"Hello," I say, looking at his cat. "What's her name?"

"Morgan," He replies. I reach forward to pet her. "I wouldn't do that if I were you."

I snap my hand back as she lashes out, claws glinting in the sunlight.

"Fine, then, be like that," I say to the cat, sticking my tongue out at it. It hisses in response and I'm tempted to take a small step back.

"I'm the only one Morgan likes to touch her," He says, scratching her behind the ear as if to prove this. She purrs and leans into his hand.

"Well, I was wondering if you'd like to pet something other than your cat," I say seductively, biting my lip.

"Oh, do you have a cat as well?"

"Um, no," I shake my head.

"A dog, then, madam?"

"No," I mentally facepalm. I lean towards him until my mouth is next to his ear and I whisper, "I just thought you might want to take me for a ride…"

"I'm not in possession of a transportation vehicle," He says, puzzled.

"Do you want to get laid?!" I say in exasperation.

"Why would we lie down?"

"To—never mind, I give up!" I shout, throwing my hands in the air. "Enjoy your cat!"

I stalk away, not waiting for a response. I tap a nurse on the shoulder and slide past him as his head turns, slipping into the line without anyone noticing I was gone. I reach the table after a few minutes and wince as they prick my finger. I head over to the fifteen-year-old section and stand amongst the other girls impatiently. I can practically feel their angry glares on the back of my head. They must still be angry because I stole all their boy toys, at one point or another.

About halfway through the video I turn to the girl behind me and say, "Please return your bitter attention to the screen."

"You're just jealous because I'm prettier than you," She lies, batting her obviously-fake eyelashes. If I remember correctly, this is the girl whose boyfriend had an especially well-toned rump.

"Bitch, please," I roll my eyes. She seems extremely offended at this, so I don't bother to say any more. I turn around just as they announce my name over the speaker, and the girl I was just arguing with bursts of laughter. I purposefully step on her foot as I make my way past her.

"Ow!" She exclaims.

"Sorry," I say coldly before making my way up on stage, my arms folded. I hear some catcalls coming from the boys in the crowd, and I blow them a kiss.

"And now, the male tribute is…" Dramatic pause. Figures. "Prestwick Bain!"

"You've got to be kidding me…" I murmur as Cat Boy makes his way on stage, Morgan held tightly in his arms. His eyes are dull with sadness, fluttering half-closed, almost like bedroom eyes. Oh yeah, he just gained some fan-girls.

"District Five, I present to you, your tributes, Addie Burrows and Prestwick Bain!"

**Katya, Age 17, District 6**

Angrily, I make another slash mark on the well, my dark grey eyes narrowed to slits. Seven hundred and forty-seven days. That's how long I've been kept here in this cold metal cell, watching through the bars in the door as people walk past, counting the days. I hate every moment I'm trapped here, and one day I will get out. I'll just have to pretend that I'm 'cured' and then everything will be fine. I'll be able to rejoin my father working in the hospital, and I'll be able to continue my experiments. And this time I'll do it right; no one will find out.

I suppose it was my own fault for getting put in here in the first place. I should never have used that type of pill on the lady; I should have known that certain level of drugs in her system would show up on the test. But now I've learned from my mistakes, and I'm ready to begin again. As soon as I can escape this horrid place, my experiments will continue.

_ We're painted red to fit right in_

"Katya," A nurse says, opening the door and smiling slightly. I return the smile, but on the inside I find myself wondering how much blood she could loose before she died. I've done this experiment before, but it was with a male… I wonder if the results would be different for a female… "I have the dress your mother sent in."

"Oh, there's no need for that," I say simply, sitting up. I'm in a black T-shirt and a pair of jeans. I wear a lab coat over this, and my dark, reddish-brown hair is pulled back in a messy bun. "I'll be wearing this outfit, thank you."

"But your mother went through the trouble of having this dress sent in…" She frowns.

"My mother has more important things to worry about than what I am wearing to the Reaping," I reply calmly, twirling my emerald ring around my finger. It was my mother's, and the specific thing she has to worry about most would be her Morphling addiction. Some say that her addiction is also a result of my experiments, but I know it isn't. Her petty feelings of agony over my current predicament are the result; her decision to turn to Morphling because of them was hers and hers alone.

"I see," The nurse nods. "Are you sure?"

"Indeed," I say calmly.

"Then let's go."

**Chris Stone, Age 17, District 6**

"_You should attack someone_," My twin brother says in my head as we walk to the Reaping. "_It'd be funny_."

"No, it wouldn't," I shake my head. I have white hair and startling blue eyes, with pale African-American skin and a stocky build. Dressed in a white long-sleeve shirt, a black button-down vest and black pants, I'm ready for today's event.

"_Sure it would. Whoever you attack would freak out. It'd be funny_," He chuckles darkly, and I can feel his presence in my chest, like a cloud of black smoke hanging ominously over my life. Would I ever want him to go away, though, I don't know… he's my brother after all. He died when we were little, but since we were twins, his spirit lives on through me.

_ I'm breaking in_

My mother wants him to go away, that's why she has me here, in the asylum. She thinks the doctors can make him go away. I honestly don't mind being here that much; I just wish the rooms were more comfortable. But all the people are nice, the nurses are always smiling. And they're so considerate, always asking if we feel dizzy. It gets a little annoying after awhile, but I know they only do it because they care.

I step into the line for check-in behind the girl in the lab coat. I've heard stories about her and how she got committed. They say she worked with her father at the hospital, and was experimenting on her patients. She would cut them open and see how much blood they could lose before they died, or how many pills of a certain drug someone could take. I'm really glad I never needed to go to that hospital. The man pricks her finger and she seems intrigued by the blood on her skin as she walks away slowly, heading towards the section for seventeen-year-old girls.

"Next," The man says, and I stick out my finger for him to take the blood sample.

"_You should hit him_," My brother says darkly, and I flinch as the man cuts a small gash in my index finger, pressing the blood to the paper and scanning it to identify that I am, indeed, myself. He gives me a red band that he slips on my wrist and he points me in the direction of my area.

"Thank you," I say to him before heading over to my section just as the video begins.

"_War, terrible war_…" I kind of zone out for the video, since I've seen it so many times. Why do they have to play the same video every year? I don't know, but it gets annoying after awhile.

"And now, ladies first," Our escort says, his shoes squeaking as he makes his way over to the glass bowl, snagging a single slip of paper with his stubby fingers before returning to the mic. "Katya Amane."

The girl in the lab coat makes her way onto the stage with a blank expression. I furrow my brow, trying to tell her emotion. I don't like the fact that I can't tell her emotions… it bugs me. Normally I'm pretty good with people, but with her, there is no telling how she feels about something. Her expression is always the same, whenever I see it, anyway.

_Shaping up_

"And the male tribute," He nods to the crowd before snatching another piece of paper and reading it into the microphone, his voice ringing out clearly through the silent crowd. "Chris Stone."

I don't move at first, and my brother helpfully reminds me, "_Idiot, that means you, get up there_." I nod hastily and make my way up onto the stage, almost tripping as I walk up the steps.

"District Six, I present to you, your tributes, Katya Amane and Chris Stone! Go on, you two, shake." I reach out and take Katya's hand in mine. It's no surprise when her skin is ice cold.

**Karri, Age 18, District 7**

Only a month and a half left until I get out of the asylum… I've been keeping track of the sentence since they put me in here. I'm not crazy, but I had to pretend I was, otherwise they would have thrown me in the prison.

_Then checking out_

"Karri, your dress is here," One of the nurses says, walking up to the door of my cell and holding my dress out to me through the bars.

"Thank you," I smile, standing and walking over to accept it. I unfold it and hold it out in front of me. It's black and knee-length with green lace covering it that'll match my blue-green eyes. It puffs out around the skirt and is sleeveless. I smile. My mother knows my taste so well. The nurse hands me a pair of green flats as well.

"I'll be back in a few minutes," The nurse says, heading off to wherever it is the nurses go to when they aren't here. I don't mind them, they're nice. I just wish they wouldn't keep asking if we feel dizzy, it's annoying.

_Of the prison bars_

I slip into the dress and the shoes, combing my honey blonde hair. Yes, its honey blonde, not dirty blonde. There is a difference. Besides, dirty blonde just sounds dirty, and my hair is very clean, thank you. It smells like coconuts and love.

The lady returns and leads me into the hallway in the direction that I assume is the front door. I'm horrible with directions, and every hallway in this asylum looks the same. I'm really nervous… I have a right to be, though. I'm almost out of the asylum when all of a sudden they decide to boost my chances of getting reaped by… Okay, I don't want to do math right now, but I know it doesn't look good for me. I'm so close to being able to go back home and sleep on a comfortable bed for the first time in years! They can't just take that away from me now.

**Riley, Age 16, District 7**

My brother and I sit on a bench beside one of the dirt roads of District Seven, watching as people pass, dressed fancily and excited for the Reaping. No other Reaping day has been like this; people were always scared that their children would get reaped. Today, though, most of them don't have any relatives going into the Reaping ball, so they're curious as to what unfortunate souls are going to meet their death this year.

_This is it_

"It's hot this year," My older brother, Todd, observes. He's eighteen and this year would have been his last in the Reaping if the Quarter Quell hadn't turned out the way it had. So it seems he won't ever have to face the horror of the Games. And even though I'm going into the ball this year with an unnerving amount of tessera, I'm glad that I face the threat alone. It means Todd won't have to face it, too. He's all I have left, after all.

"It's hot every year," I reply, squinting my caramel-colored eyes to see against the bright light of the sun.

"But it's more hot then usual this year," He says, running his hair through his curly brown hair. He looks almost exactly like me, except he got Mom's eyes and I got Dad's.

It's a curse, really, that we're reminded of them whenever we look at each other. My parents along with my brother, Daniel, all died in a fire at one of the lumber factories. My only two other siblings, Liz and Sonny, refused to eat anything after the fire, and they died of starvation. Now it's just Todd and I. The District repossessed our house after the fire, so we had to become 'street rats' as the rest of District Seven calls us. We go around every night and try to find someone who will let us sleep in their house. Most of them won't and we have to sleep on a bench or in an alleyway, but every once in awhile a person will be generous to let us stay there.

_The apocalypse_

"Yeah, I guess," I shrug, running my fingers over the fabric bracelet around my wrist. It's just a strip of dark blue cloth crudely sewn together at the ends to make a bracelet, but it means a lot to me. It's from the shirt my mother was wearing when she died in the fire. I never take it off.

"We should get going if you're gonna get some hits on the way," Todd says and I nod, standing up and brushing the dirt off my jeans a T-shirt. We get lots of dirty looks from the Peacekeepers every year for just wearing our normal clothes, but we don't have anything else, so it's not as if we can help it.

As we walk, I purposefully bump into a man. He looks to be about in his thirties and glances at me as I bump into him. As I do, my fingers find their way into his pocket and slip his wallet out of his ownership and into mine, sliding it in my pocket. I mumble an apology before drifting back over the walk next to Todd. It all happened in the course of a few second.

"Did you get it?" Todd asks.

"Of course," I grin, pulling the wallet out of my pocket for a second to show him. There isn't much that I'm good at, but stealing is my best talent. It's also what got me in the asylum, too; they labeled me as a kleptomaniac. And maybe I am, but I don't care. The rush of adrenaline and they use of whatever it is I've taken far outweighs whatever impact it may have on my brain. And I'm great at it, too. I can rob a person blind and they won't even know I was there. Unless I want them to, of course.

District Seven isn't the most beautiful of the Districts, but it sure isn't the worst. I like it here. The houses are all cozy and wooden, with lots of windows to let the light in and thin, white curtains on almost every house that flutter in the breeze. The grass grows tall and green, with animals running everywhere. The tons of trees, even in the most populated areas, provide shade over the entire District, so even though it is rather hot in the summers, it isn't too bad. There's a constant smell of pine wafting through the air, and birds can be heard at all times no matter where you are. It doesn't rain too much here, but when it does, there is always a rainbow afterwards. All the roads are dirt, except for the one leading to the Justice Building, which is cement, like the build itself.

"Hey, good luck," My brother says when we reach the square.

"Thanks. Here," I step forward and give him a hug, slipping the four wallets I stole on the way here into his pocket. "Can't have those on me if I get reaped."

"That's not gonna happen," Todd shakes his head.

"You don't know that."

"No, I don't know that," He admits. "But it's not.

Smiling faintly, I point out, "That doesn't make any sense."

He grins, "Yeah, I know." And he gives me a real hug before disappearing into the crowd of people. I watch as he goes, and I look up at the clouds. I think it might rain…

**Karri, Age 18, District 7**

The first drops of rain are falling as the Capitol's annual propaganda video ends. I don't find it boring like most people do, but I find it infuriating. Peace should never come with a cost, its something that we're all born deserving. How we live our lives should reflect whether we keep that peace or not.

"As always, ladies first," Our escort says, her heels clicking as she walked up to the bowl and picking a single slip of paper. My heart leaps into my throat as she opens her lipstick-covered mouth to read off the name. "Karri Dennings."

I slam my eyes shut and clench my fists so tightly that my short nails sink into my skin. I'm not here, and that wasn't my name. Everything is going to be fine. I'm in the forest somewhere, with the wind rustling the leaves and pine needles crunching under my feet.

_I'm waking up_

I can feel all the eyes on me and I pry open my own, forcing my breathing to be slow and steady as I make my way up to the stage. I put on a small, polite smile for the audience. I think I can hear my mother sobbing somewhere in the crowd.

"And now for the boys," Our escort says, digging around in the pile of papers at the bottom of the bowl before selecting a single slip of paper and reading the name off into the microphone, "Riley Willows!"

The crowd parts in the sixteen-year-old section to reveal a tall boy with a mortified look on his face. He glances around for a moment, as if thinking that there's another Riley Willows somewhere, and that it actually isn't him. A deer in the headlights…

"Well, come on, dear, we haven't got all day," This seems to snap him out of it as he nods hastily and darts up onto the stage, his eyes full of misery. She motions for us to shake hands and for a moment my eyes meet his, and I realize what I've just been thrown into.

**Anais, Age 14, District 8**

"Today is a very bad day," My friend, Maxxie, says quietly as we walk to the Reaping, holding a muffin in his hand. He glances at me. "You should eat something."

"I ate before I came," I lie, smiling, and trying to seem honest and casual.

"No you didn't," He replies simply, looking me in the eyes. I frown. Damn him. He's the only one who can tell when I'm lying.

"Well, I'm not going to eat anything," I grumble, crossing my arms over my stomach. I'm too fat. Besides, I ate a banana yesterday, that's more than enough for me.

"You should, it's not healthy," He says.

I glare at him, "I don't _care_; I'm too fat. I need to lose more weight."

"You're sixty-two pounds," He points out.

"Too fat," I shake my head. I wear a heavy black jacket, a gray skirt that falls to my knees, and bright red dress shoes. My long, straight, dark blonde hair is up in a bun and I wear mascara to bring out my wide brown eyes. I self-consciously suck my gut in to make myself appear like I weigh less than I do. Sometimes I don't know why I even bother. I'm never going to be skinny, and I'm never going to be beautiful.

_I feel it in my bones_

**Riann, Age 15, District 8**

"Hey, hey you," Someone says, and I turn to face one of the other boys in the fifteen-year-old section. His hair is disheveled and his eye is twitching slightly. I fight the urge to take a step away from him. "What're you in for?"

"Excuse me?" I blink in surprise, my dark blue eyes wanting to hide behind my wavy brown hair. My bangs aren't long enough, though.

"What're you in for?" He repeats. He waves a hand in front of my face. "Are you _slow_?"

"No, I have depression," I reply calmly, my heart hurting as I look away. I hate telling people that. "I'm not slow."

"Then prove it."

"What?"

"Prove that you aren't slow." He twitches and giggles slightly.

"Okay," I say, giving him a weird look. I close my eyes for a second, searching my photographic memory for something to prove to him that I'm most certainly not stupid. "Pi is three point one four one five nine two six five three five eight nine seven nine three two three eight four six two six four three three eight three two seven nine five two eight eight four one nine seven one six nine three nine nine three seven five one zero five eight two zero nine-"

"Whoa, there, Nelly," He laughs.

Quietly I say, "My name's not Nelly…"

"I get it, you aren't slow, congrats," He claps me on the back and I flinch. He whispers, "Just watch out for the narwhals, otherwise you'll regret it," before heading to bother some other fifteen-year-old. Did that really just happen?

"Welcome, welcome," Our escort says in his booming voice, shutting everyone up immediately. "Before we begin, I have a video to show you that's been sent straight to you from the Capitol."

I tune out the video, since I remember it perfectly anyway. That's the curse of the photographic memory, I remember everything that I've ever seen or heard, whether I want to or not.

_Enough to make my system blow_

"And now, for the girls," He says, taking several loud steps over to the bowl and lifting a small slip of paper out of the bowl and taking it with him back to the microphone. "Anais Noel."

I hear a shocked little intake of breath above the silence, and the crowd parts to reveal a terribly skinny girl with watery eyes, looking up at her own image splattered across the screens mounted on every building in the square. Her knees shake as she makes her way up to the stage and as she walks across it I notice her snap a rubber band on her wrist, hugging her stomach with one arm. It makes sense now, she has an eating disorder.

"Well, aren't you pretty," The escort smiles toothily and I almost laugh when Anais takes a small step away from him, looking a little creeped out. He ignores this, of course, plucking a paper from the male bowl and taking it back to the microphone. "Riann Bedloe!"

In the moments after he says this, the world seems to slow down. The eyes of the people around me flutter onto my face, which is now on every TV in Panem. Pain stabs at my stomach with every step as I make my way up onto the stage. This was always meant to happen, wasn't it? It hurts much more than it should, knowing that I'm going to die. But maybe it's for the best. Everything hurts now… maybe this is just what I need to stop the pain.

I make my way up onto the stage and find myself shaking Anais' hand, which is incredibly pale and small, before the peacekeepers usher us into the Justice Building. As they lead us through the doors I send one last look over my shoulder and as the doors close a terrible pain rips through my heart. The tale of my death begins hear. May people remember me once I'm gone.

**Noah, Age 17, District 9**

I shouldn't be here, in the asylum… I didn't do anything wrong. My parents rebelled against the Capitol and it got them murdered, publicly executed in front of the entire District. They were afraid I had been brainwashed by my parents to believe the same things they did, so they threw me in here. And now they're determined to 'fix' me, not letting me leave until all of my 'mental issues' have been cured. I could very easily pretend to think that what the Capitol does is all fine and dandy, and that I think they're right for sending twenty-three children to die every single year. That wouldn't be too hard at all.

The thing is my sexual orientation seems to be a problem as well.

Apparently, in the Districts, being homosexual is a mental illness that needs to be 'cured.' After all, how can one create more little worker bees for the Capitol if both you and your lover are of the same sex?

_Welcome to the New Age, to the New Age_

God, life is screwed up.

I step out into the sunlight for the first time in months, letting it warm my pale skin. It feels amazing. I brush my shaggy black hair out of my green eyes, looking up at the clouds. It's a beautiful day… how ironic. Since Uncle Dearest didn't bother to send me any Reaping clothes, I'm stuck wearing the District Nine Asylum standard uniform of a white T-shirt and light blue sweatpants.

I can barely remember what my Uncle's face looks like. I was placed in his care after my parents were executed. But I remember his violent threats, and maybe he wasn't going to follow through with them, but he sure seemed like he was going to. At least he did to nine-year-old me. So I attacked him whenever he came close. And that may sound crazed, but I was little and scared and the pain from my parents death was still fresh in my mind. I was just trying to protect myself… but it got me put in the mental institution. Maybe it was a mistake, but I can't take it back now. I have to make the best of what I have. That's hard to do, though, when I barely have anything at all.

**Maravista, Age 15, District 9**

"Snape, Snape, Severus Snape," I sing as I bounce along the paths of District Nine to the Reaping, my blonde curls bouncing and my blue eyes glittering merrily. My black robes swish behind me as I skip along the road. All of a sudden I freeze and shout, "I found the source of the ticking! It's a pipe bomb!"

I let out a shriek of laughter as I fall over dramatically, pretending to have been blown up, people walking by staring at me strangely.

"Freak," I hear some brunette say, pursing her fat lips as she walks by on eight inch heels.

"I hope the dementors eat your happy memories, and that you're forever bombarded by Nargles!" I yell after her, smirking. That'll show her. Standing, I brush the dirt off my robes and continue skipping to the Reaping. Oh, right, I'm going to the Reaping… not the happiest of occasions, but I just can't help but be in a good mood. How could I not be in a good mood with Harry Potter on the brain?

I've never quite been able to figure out which movie was my favorite… I don't think it's possible. I mean, the first one was the beginning and everything, and all the actors were still so tiny and cute! The second one was awesome, with the giant snake and the Phoenix and the sword of Gryffindor. The third one was _so good_ with Sirius Black and, oh my gosh, I just loved it. The fourth one was so nerve-racking with the Tri-Wizard Cup and the port keys and Cedric, the guy that looks awfully like a vampire. And the fifth one was so frustrating with Umbridge and her stupid rules! I just wanted to take one of her magic pens and shove it up her—you know what, I'm not going to finish that sentence because bad words are sad words. Profanity is insanity.

I reach the Reaping and glance around a bit, my eyes resting on a table where people are lined up. I join the back of the line, whistling the tune of the Harry Potter theme song as I wait. I reach the table, and a burly man with a curly beard pricks my finger and smears the blood on a paper before scanning it.

"Hagrid!" I exclaim happily. He scowls, sliding a read arm band on me before pointing me towards my section. I trot to the group of fifteen-year-old girls and stand next to a ginger with a puppet on her arm. I bounce on the balls of my feet in boredom as she has a conversation with it about cheese sticks and how scary they are.

"Welcome," Our escort mumbles, waving unenthusiastically to the crowd. He runs his chubby fingers through the little bit of hair he has left on his head. "Time for the video we've all been waiting for…"

The video begins to play but I drift off into my own thoughts. The sixth Harry Potter movie was spectacular. I truly loved it. I mean, like, Draco was so amazing in that movie, and Harry was such a bundle of emotions, and the scenes with Lavender were hilarious… oh gosh, it was perfect. And the last two were great! The split the last book into two different movies, of course, but they did such an amazing job with it, I can't even… and the dragon and Dobby… and… like… it was heartbreaking.

_I'm radioactive_

"The Capitol has decided we will be doing boys first this year," He says, looking like he might fall asleep any minute. "No, I don't know why. Orders from above… or something."

His feet drag as he lumbers over to one of the Reaping balls and plucks one white slip of paper from amongst the others. Oh, this is so much like that scene in the fourth movie with the Goblet of Fire—

"Noah Pitcher!" A boy with messy black hair and pale skin makes his way up onto the stage, his body tense. I narrow my eyes… he looks so familiar. When he reaches the escort, he turns and faces the audience. As soon as his green eyes look out into the audience, I know where I know him from. He's Harry Potter! "And now onto the girls…"

"Harry, Harry Potter!" I say, waving my arms spastically, causing puppet-girl to take a few steps back.

"Maravista Evellet!" I freeze, and my arms fall like noodles to my sides. I look around. Everyone is staring at me, and there I am, projected up onto the screen. My knees shaking, I walk up the stone steps onto the stage, all the color drained from my face.

Vaguely I hear the escort shout our names out to the crowd once again, and I hear their roaring. I don't feel in control of my limbs anymore… they move themselves as I shake his hand. It's as if I'm watching a movie from behind a TV screen. As I walk into the Justice Building, I whisper, "I found the source of the ticking… it's a pipe bomb…"

_Radioactive_

**Toby, Age 15, District 10**

"Oh, look at you!" My grandmother grins as I walk into the living room, my brown hair combed back. I wear my work pants (they actually aren't too bad) and a light blue short-sleeved shirt. I know, not very dressy, but I don't see the point in getting really dressed up. Besides, it would have been such a bother for Granddad to have had to go buy a new suit, since I've outgrown my other one.

"I didn't do half bad," Granddad chuckles as he walks past me. I couldn't figure out how to do my hair, so he had to do it for me.

"You look so handsome!" Grandma says, giving me a small hug.

"Thank, Gran," I smile, giving her a kiss on the cheek.

"You look good," My mother says quietly from where she sits at the table, eating a bowl of cereal with a plastic spoon. He hand shakes a little as she lifts the spoon to her mouth. My smile falls away. She's worse today than she normally is. She wears a big T-shirt and a pair of large gray sweatpants. Her brown hair is pulled back into a loose, messy bun that looks like it could fall at any given second, and her eye shadow is slightly smeared on her face.

"Thank you," I say, making my way over to the table and sitting in the chair next to hers.

There's a long silence before she says, "It's my fault you're in the bowl today."

"It's not your fault," I say instantly. I truly believe it, too. After my father died, she had a mental breakdown. It wasn't her fault that she couldn't handle it, she loved him so much. But while she was in the asylum, she gave birth to me. A month later she was released. And even though I was never committed myself, it was good enough for the peacekeepers to put me into the reaping bowl this year.

"Yes, it is," She nods, scratching the skin beside her eye with a long nail as she looks up at me with murky green eyes that match my own. "If I hadn't…"

"It's not your fault," I say, placing my hand on top of hers. She smiles at me, weakly but gratefully.

"You better get going, son," My grandfather says, looking at his wristwatch. We're a relatively wealthy family for this district, thanks to my grandparents; his watch is the most expensive thing we own.

"Yeah," I nod. Giving my mother a kiss on the cheek, I head towards the front door.

"We'll be there in a little while, I still have to clean up once we're all done with breakfast," My grandmother says, eying my mother's still half-full bowl of cereal. Or is it half empty?

"Okay, bye," I wave. My eyes rest on my mother as I walk out the door. She stares down into her cereal, her trembling fingers holding the spoon. A lone tear rolls down her long eyelashes and drips onto the pale skin of her hand. "Bye, Mom."

**Jezebel, Age 17, District 10**

I sit on my mattress, motionless, my bare feet pressed up against the cold stone walls of my cell. The sleeves of my over-sized grey jacket are pulled down so only my fingers show. Sometimes I just feel so horrible that even my hands don't want to be seen.

Everything that has happened has been my fault, it seems. Everything has lead up to me being trapped behind these bars, a blade pressed against my wrist the only escape from the horrors of reality. I grew up in the trees, running away from home and trying to find happiness amongst the branches. Of course it never worked. And whenever I went back home things would always be worse than when I left them. I could hardly breathe without my parents staring me down, checking my wrists for new marks, screaming at me when I cried because it was my fault. My mother would force me to communicate with her, making my sit down and not letting me get up until I had talked to her. She cut me off from the rest of the world, isolating me from the only people I felt I could trust, because she was jealous of them. And whenever I stood up for myself, my practically absent father would yell, because it was all my fault. I was hurting mom's feelings. She forced me to hug her, kiss her, tell her I loved her. To me back then she was the warden, keeping me imprisoned in a dungeon of misery and depression.

_All systems go_

So one day I decided to take back the freedom I had before everything went wrong. I took one of the kitchen knives and went into her bedroom while she was sleeping. I drove the blade through her cold, selfish heart. Her scream woke up my father, and I fled the house while he was in shock. I was fourteen then, and they didn't find me for two more after that. When they finally did catch up to me, I was immediately thrown in here. My father made sure that it was one of the highest security cells in the entire asylum. It's just a mattress on the floor in a metal box, with a triple-locked door and no windows. I've been sentenced to this asylum for life. This is my life now. And I used to think that there was no way out… but now, on the day of the Reaping, I realize that was wrong. There is a way out. And its death.

**Toby, Age 15, District 10**

"I volunteer!" A girl with jet black hair and contrasting pale skin makes her way up onto the stage. Her blue eyes glint from the shadows cast over her face by her bangs, and she pulls the sleeves of her jacket down over her small hands. She wears ripped jeans and a pair of black converse, age-old shoes that have been around for generations.

"What is your name?" The escort asks, trying not to be put off by the girl's dangerous-looking appearance.

"Jezebel Rosaline," She says into the microphone staring at the edge of the stage and refusing to look up, even as the escort trots over to other bowl and selects a single slip of paper.

_Sun hasn't died_

I stare at it and can feel by heart beating. It can't be me, it just can't be…

"Tobias Donsy!"

It is me.

**Castiel, Age 12, District 11**

I run my fingers over the inscribed letters of the tombstone as ravens caw somewhere in the distance. The sound of shovels breaking the earth can be heard a few tombstones away, but I'm too absorbed in my own thoughts to pay much attention to them. This women died a few months ago of a vicious disease. It ravaged her body so much that when we went to dig her up, her organs were damaged beyond all hope of being sold. Such a shame. By the looks of it, she had gorgeous lungs before the disease.

"Boss, we need to talk," Strong, the oldest of the gang, says, stabbing his shovel into the dirt so it stands by itself. I glance up at them. They've only half-finished this dig, why have they stopped?

"Yes," Timmy and Tommy, the twins, nod. They're only eight, and Strong is only nine. The youngest of the group, of course, is Sam. He's only six, but just like the rest, he'll do whatever it is I tell them to. That's all that matters.

"What is it?" I sigh.

"Are you sure this isn't… _wrong_?" Strong frowns.

"You're wasting my time. Freshness is key and the clock is ticking, Strong," I growl, stepping towards him and glaring downwards. His eyes widen and he takes a small step back, almost falling into the grave, but catching himself. "Get that body dug up. The second you have it, Timmy and Tommy, I need you to remove the kidneys, the left lung and the collarbone. Got it?"

"Got it," They say. "But, Boss… This is… it's messed up."

"We've been doing this for four years, and you're going soft on me now?" I sneer.

"We just think things could be different," Strong explains, desperate to smooth things over. I don't get mad. But apparently the mere idea of that terrifies them. "We could get good jobs, legal ones, where we don't have to rob graves…"

"I don't sleep well at night…" Sam murmurs quietly, big innocent eyes blinking at me.

_Deep in my bones_

"I sleep perfectly sound," I reply coldly. He looks away. "Now get digging, because while you struggle to keep your conscience, a garden of riches rots in the ground."

**Piper, Age 12, District 10**

I pull my black T-shirt on over my head, tug on my skinny jeans and shove my feet into my sneakers. I quickly brush out my blonde hair and rub my hazel eyes, stretching. I woke up late this morning, so I'm in a bit of a hurry. I glance at myself in my cracked body-length mirror. I look alright. On my T-shirt, in Latin, a language only known by there or four people living today (myself included), it says in white, cursive letters _Give Back America_. I'm quite proud of that.

I make my way towards the front door of my house—if you could call if my house, or if it could really still count as a house at all. When I came to this District, I found this abandoned home on the edges of the fields. No one has lived in here in years. The mattress is moldy, and the boards in the living room ceiling have snapped and caved in, hanging dangerously in the middle of the room. I expect they'll fall one day, but hopefully not on me. The floorboards creak as I rush out the front door, slamming it closed behind me.

It's a long run to the edge of the town. The grass is short and green, with wildflowers tangled amongst the blades. The sun beats down hard on my fair skin as my feet pound against the Earth, my arms churning at my sides. I'm flanked by fences of barbed wire, bordering the livestock fields. Cows and sheep graze happily in their enclosures, blissfully unaware of the wrenched fate they've been doomed to since the moment they were born.

_Straight from inside_

Sometimes that's how I feel we people live, here in District Ten. It's ironic, almost, the way we raise cows in such a caring way, just so they'll leave a better taste in our mouths after they're dead. That's how children grow up here. They're raised to be good people, and when they're reaped it suddenly makes sense, that they're whole lives they've just been being groomed for the slaughter. To make it entertaining. To leave a good taste in the mouths of the ravenous Capitol. Sometimes I think that's all we are.

**Castiel, Age 12, District 11**

"As usual, ladies first," Our escort smiles like a snake, her black heels clicking against the wood as she walks. It's the only sound that can be heard anywhere in the District. I glance at the girls' side of the crowd and smirk a little. They appear to be holding their breath.

I find it humorous, their obvious panic. It's natural to feel a little nervous, even I am, but the least they could do would be to attempt to hide it. Why must they broadcast their emotions for the world to see? I don't understand it.

My eyes stray past them to a young couple standing on the edge of the crowd. The girl clutches onto her boyfriend so tightly that I can't help but know that she has someone in the Reaping ball this year that means a lot to her. Her boyfriend looks grim, with his arm wrapped around her shoulders in an attempt to support her. He bends down to give her a small kiss on the forehead. This calms her down considerably, though she still looks horribly anxious. I grit my teeth to keep my face from contorting into one of disgust. Anger swells in my stomach and I force myself to look away. I slam my eyes shut, feeling a bit sick as the emotions loom inside of me. Maybe I'm angry because of how broken my own family is, with my alcoholic father having abandoned my mother and I when I was little. Or maybe I'm jealous that I'm too out of touch without myself to ever feel that way about anyone, that it seems almost impossible. Either way, I don't like it, these emotions… They're strange and painful, and I don't want them here.

_I'm waking up_

I barely hear the escort call out, "Piper Cannes!"

I look up to see a girl about my age walking onto the stage, looking scared but determined to look calm. I glance back at the couple to see the girl laughing with relief and the boy smiling. His arm isn't around her anymore, as one of the girls in the Reaping runs and embraces her. The emotions fade almost instantly, and I return my attention to the escort just in time to see her read the name of the boy.

"Castiel Mindow!" For a second, I feel so shocked that its almost like I've been hit with a brick wall. My ears start to ring, and I suddenly feel as cold as the corpses I dig up every day. Then I seem to snap out of it, giving my head a powerful shake and forcing my feet to carry me up onto the stage. As quickly as the emotions came, they're gone again, and I smile slightly towards the crowd. What an unfortunate turn of events.

**Marcelline, Age 18, District 12**

"Are you almost ready?" I hear Harris call from out in the hallway.

"Yeah, almost," I reply through the door, pulling on my ankle boots. I sit on the edge of my bed and sigh, looking at the only picture in the room. It's a sketch I did a year or so ago, of Tori. She died in the last Hunger Games, killed by the giant centipede that lived in the tunnels. She was my best friend.

_I feel it in my bones_

"Alright, I'm ready," I say softly, joining Harrison in the hallway. I've been living with him ever since my own parents died when I was little, in a mining accident. His eyes are bloodshot and puffy, his skin pale. He looks like he hasn't slept in days. He probably hasn't. When Tori died, he went even farther off than I did. He almost destroyed the living room, flipping the table over and throwing the TV out the window. There were still glass shards on the floor when I got back from the asylum.

"Why are you dressed as a squirrel?" He asks. It's true, of course. I wear a grey squirrel-fur tank top, grey squirrel-fur shorts, and grey squirrel-fur boots, along with a pair of ears on top of my head and a tail attached to my pants.

"…Why aren't _you_ dressed as a squirrel…?" I say slowly, walking past him out the door. He hesitates before following me.

"Fair enough."

**Zachary, Age 14, District 12**

"Let me see your hand, please," The lady at the table says. With my two hands comfortably in my pockets, I don't really want to move them so I just reach out with my third hand, placing it in hers with a polite smile.

"Let me see your hand, please," The lady repeats. I frown a bit in confusion. My hand is in her hand. I admit, it's a bit odd that people don't think it's strange that I have a third hand, but the fact that she's pretending it isn't there is even weirder.

"I gave you my hand," I say slowly.

"No, you didn't," She narrows her eyes. "Your hands are in your pockets."

"Yes, and my third hand is in your other hand," I say slowly, trying to explain this as simply as possible so that she'll understand.

"You only have two hands, sir," She says forcefully.

Oh right. I don't have three hands.

_Enough to make my systems go_

"I'm sorry, sometimes I forget," I explain, pulling my right hand out of my pocket and letting her prick my finger. She smudges the blood on the paper, which stings a bit, and then scans it to make sure that it's me. She nods to herself when my name pops up, and then slides a blue band on my wrist.

"That's your area," She says, motioning to the section for fourteen-year-olds.

"Thank you," I say, grinning at her. "I hope you have a nice day."

"Leave," She growls. Taking the hit, I quickly skirt the crowd before sliding into my age group. With my right hand, I reach up to feel my middle arm… it feels so real, looks so real. It's identical to the others, there isn't a difference. I don't understand how I could possibly not truly be there… I've seen it, felt it, ever since I was born.

"As always," Our escort says dramatically. "Ladies first."

There is dead silence hanging over the district as she pulls a single slip of paper from the very bottom of the bowl. I shoo a mosquito away from my ear with my left hand, my eyes not leaving the slip of paper.

"Hermione Wells!" The escort reads loudly.

"I volunteer!" A girl shouts, darting up onto the stage. I blink as I see her squirrel tail swishing behind her as she slides to a stop next to the escort, waving at the crowd, her head tilted slightly to the side. She just looks off in her eyes, like the wires in her head just aren't connected right somewhere in there. I swear, the entire District takes a small step back.

_Welcome to the New Age, to the New Age_

"And what's your name?" The escort asks tentatively, looking a little weirded out.

"Marcelline Jeggings," The girl replies simply.

"Oh my, I do believe I've heard that name before," The escort blinks. "Weren't you reaped last year?"

"Tori volunteered for me," She replies, running her hand through her short black hair and blinking her violet eyes. How are her eyes violet? That can't be natural. "And then she died for me. So, I guess I'm honoring her memory, or something. I don't know, could be fun."

"Well, it's nice to see another volunteer," She nods, taking another small step away from the female tribute. "Onto the boys… Zachary Madison!"

I almost choke, and half-fall half-walk up onto the stage. I glance up at the television to see my face on every one, confused-looking blue eyes hiding behind wild black hair. I look just as crazed as Marcelline.

"Go on, you two, shake hands," The escort smiles impatiently. I reach outwards with my middle hand and place it in hers, but she just stares at me. Why is she just staring at me? I gave her my hand, why doesn't she shake it? I hear someone cough in the crowd. She reached forward and takes my right hand, guiding it into her own.

Oh right. I don't have a third arm.

_I'm radioactive_

_Radioactive_


	4. Train Rides

**Hey, guys! I hope you like this chapter! The next one is the Chariot Races, and it'll have a song in it, so if you have any song suggestions PM them to me or put them in your review. Oh, yeah, reviews would be awesome, guys. **

**WARNING: Addie hates everyone. And I'm sure by the end of the story she would have insulted almost every group of people in existence. If she insults you, don't feel special, she's going to insult everyone at one point or another. Just remember that her opinions (or the opinions of any of the characters in my SYOTs) are not mine. K?**

**Review please :D**

* * *

**Riley, Age 16, District 7**

"_And what a pair from District Four_," Caesar says on the television screen, laughing. They play the video of Kimberley and Conan getting reaped, the talk show host's voice being played over it. "_Kimberley is so out of touch, she obviously doesn't know what's going on, but Conan… now Conan looks like a real competitor in these Games, what do you think, Claudius_?"

"_Oh, I completely agree_," Claudius says in his strange voice. The train car is silent except for the faint sound of the train rushing over the tracks and the flat-screen TV mounted on the wall. "_Conan is well-built, with a look of knowledge and ambition about him… I think he's one of the biggest competitors in the Game this year_."

Caesar nods, "_And the way he and Kimberley seem to be almost polar opposites is remarkable_!"

"_Indeed_,"

"_Now onto District Five, where_-"

I pick up the remote off the velvet couch next to me and hit the power button. The TV flickers off and silence fills the car. It's a rectangular metal box with an arching gray ceiling. On my side of the room, a velvet couch and three plush, matching chairs are centered around the TV. The other half of the room contains two long tables covered in fruits, meats, desserts and things I can't even recognize. There are two booths with soft-looking, red seats. Karri is sitting in one, facing away from me, her legs pulled up to her chest and her head resting on her knees.

"Do you want your shoe laces back?" I ask, pulling them out of my pocket and standing up. She jumps, as if she had drifted off into thought. After the Reaping she had taken a shower, and then changed into a dark gray sweatshirt, jean shorts and a pair of sneakers that the Avoxes had provided for her. "Did I startle you?"

"A bit," She admits.

"Sorry," I shrug. An awkward silence fills the cart, as she goes back to staring out the window and I just stand there, glancing around, not quite sure what to do. Honestly, there isn't really anything to do on this train except watch TV, hang out in our rooms and take showers. We're waiting for our mentors and they seem to be taking their time.

"How did you get my shoe laces?"

"What?" I say in surprise. I haven't heard her say more than two words at a time since she got on this train. She blinks, knowing I heard what she said. "Oh… I snagged them about half an hour ago."

I walk over and place the shoe laces on the surface of the glass table in front of her. She looks up and asks curiously, "Are you a kleptomaniac?"

"Yeah," I nod. "How did you know that, though?"

"How else would you steal my shoe laces?"

I laugh. "Alright, good point. But what about you? Other than having stared out the window for about an hour now, you seem totally normal. How the heck did you get in the Reaping bowl?"

"It's a long story…" She frowns, biting her thumb nail.

"Does it look like I'm going anywhere?" I ask, sliding into the seat across from her with a joking smirk. She sighs, but looks slightly eager at the opportunity to tell her story. I get that.

"My friend was accused of attempted murder." She explains, gazing out the window at the greens of the forest flashing by. "I knew she didn't do it, so I took the fall for it. And so I didn't go to prison, I told them that I was insane. They put me in the asylum instead."

"Oh," I say, glancing down at my hands as they awkwardly sit in my lap. I slide them in my jean pockets, not quite sure what to do with them.

"I pleaded insanity so that I could stop from going to prison," She says, half to herself. "That was the biggest mistake of my life."

**Kimberley, Age 17, District 4**

"Dis is do good," I say, my mouth full of strawberry cupcake. I swallow hard and grin, bouncing over to where Conan sits on the couch, pouncing on his lap and giggling. "Santa!"

He looks up at me, agitated. "In what world would I possibly look like Saint Nickolas?"

"You aren't nearly as mean as I thought you were during the Reapings," I say, falling into the seat next to him, my legs still across his lap. He pushes them off. "You looked like some sort of demon!"

I laugh, but he doesn't join in.

"Don't be so serious all the time, mister sand man," I smile, making sure to sit up straight. After all, you won't get respect if your back's not erect. I boop him on the nose with my pointer finger and he stares blankly back at me.

"You're very interesting," He says simply.

"I know, aren't I?" I beam. "The doctors say I'm special."

"It seems that since you were abandoned by your parents at a young age," He begins, his head slightly tilted to the side. "You grew up in the orphanage, without anyone who truly loved you. You felt alone, didn't you? And when you were there, you were ignored, because you were just another hopeless kid out of _forty_ hopeless kids. So one day you saw something that made you finally snap, your extreme need for attention took over, and you didn't even realize it. You still don't. Such a shame, you seem like a very smart girl."

I don't say anything for several minutes, in which I just stare into his emotionless eyes. Silently, I reach into my pocket and with a completely blank expression, release rainbow-colored glitter into the air above his head and watch as it showers down on him. He sighs, wiping the sparkles off of his eyelids.

"Was that really necessary?" He asks.

"Yep," I say brightly, before standing and bouncing over to the dessert table again. OMG, sugar cookies!

**Castiel, Age 12, District 11**

I glance over my shoulder at Piper, who sits in the booth with her head propped up on her hands, and find that she's still staring at me, humming some strange song that I've never heard before. It's definitely not a District Eleven tune.

"Can you stop staring at me?" I frown.

"Sure," she shrugs, turning her attention elsewhere, but continuing to hum. I try to ignore it, but it's like its penetrating my brain. Normally I'm incredibly good at blocking out noises, but this is different somehow. I grit my teeth. Is silence too much to ask for?

"What are you humming?" I say in exasperation, my eyes narrowed.

"Smooth Criminal by Michael Jackson," She replies.

"_Give back America_," I chuckle to myself, reading the Latin words printed on her shirt with a small smirk on my face. Two people who can read Latin both in the same train car… how unexpected. My mother started teaching me how to speak Latin when I was seven, as thanks for taking care of her. She's so sick all the time… I hope she's alright. Piper looks up, surprised. "Whatever do you mean by that, Miss Cannes?"

"I mean for these wrecked Games to be over and Panem to be demolished, and for the great country that once stood here to be resurrected and rebuilt." She says bluntly and I blink in surprise. As if a jumbled heap of treason hadn't just escaped from between her teeth, she leans her head against the window, lost in thought. Something about her annoys me. Maybe it's that continuous humming, or the fact that she seems to think she's so righteous and deep, but it makes me feel rather aggravated by her presence.

She looks at me again. "What did you say you were put in the asylum for?"

"An obsession with the dead," I reply coldly.

"Yep, definitely a son of Hades," She says to herself. I narrow my eyes, ready to ask her what the hell she's talking about, but before I get the chance to the door of the train car opens and a blonde girl of about sixteen walks in, a younger toddler cradled in her arms and a wolf trotting behind her.

"Hi," The girl, smiles. "My name is Abby; I'm going to be your mentor. It's nice to meet you two."

"Greetings," I say simply, nodding to acknowledge her.

Piper walks right up to the wolf and stares into its eyes, looking transfixed. "Are you a member of Lupa's pack? Have you come to rescue me from this place?" The wolf just stares at her, his tongue hanging out the side of his mouth as he looks around, quite content.

"Um, no, he's my pet wolf, Animi," Abby explains, holding her hand out for Piper to shake. "It's nice to meet you, Piper."

"Nice to meet you, too," Piper smiles.

"And you would be Castiel?" Abby says, turning to me.

"Yes, I am Castiel," I nod. "Sadly, that reality is growing more frustrating with every passing minute…"

"Anyway," Abby says awkwardly after several seconds of silence. "We need to get down to business."

"What kind of business?" Piper asks, following Abby to sit down next to me on the couch. Abby's toddler giggles and sits in her lap. Piper stretches out her hand and the little boy grasps her finger, giggling.

"Strategy," Abby replies, smiling slightly at her son. I can't quite remember his name.

"Alright," I say, deciding to give her the opportunity to prove her worth. "What did you have in mind?"

She grins mischievously, "I have a few ideas."

**Prestwick, Age 16, District 5**

"Why are you all pouty, cat boy?" Addie asks from where she lays stretched out on the couch in just a mini skirt and a sports bra. I turn my attention from the window to her face. "Aw, have you been crying, love? Miss your cat?"

"'Tis true," I admit with a heavy sigh, my eyes still watery. "I deeply miss my dear Morgan. My sister and mother shall take care of her, however. I trust them not to hurt her whilst I'm gone."

"Why would they hurt her?" Addie asks, confused. "She's just a cat. A really mean, cruel, vicious, unfriendly cat, but still."

"They know her to be the reincarnation of Morgan le Fay," I explain. Addie gives me a strange look, but I ignore it, continuing on with my explanation. "And they believe, like so many, that magick is a true sin… an evil."

"Yeah, all those church people are so uptight," She nods in agreement. "You just got to ignore them and show them how much more awesome you are than them."

"You think I'm awesome?" I blink.

"Anyone's more awesome than those nagging priests," She grumbles, running a hand through her blonde hair. "They think they're so high and mighty with their giant books and fancy 't' symbols…"

"Magick has rules," I shake my head. "It's not an evil."

"I don't remember asking about it…"

I stand up, continuing, "There is a strict rule that says: _An' ye harm none, do what ye will_. Do you know what that means, Addie?"

"When did I say you're allowed to call me by my first name?"

"It means," I explain. "That you can do whatever you want, as long as it doesn't harm anyone. Why would something be a crime if it doesn't harm anyone?"

"It's not…?"

"Exactly!" I exclaim. "I don't understand. Why on earth would we witches be considered evil? We don't even believe in the devil…"

"IDK," Addie shrugs. I'm not sure what that means, but I decide not to ask, as she seems to already think that I'm ignorant of the modern world. There is a long moment of silence. "So… missing the cat again?"

"Indeed," I frown. "But it's alright. And even though the peacekeepers wouldn't let me take her with me, they did let me bring her collar."

I reach into my pocket and take out the thick, black collar. I extend it until it's to its largest size, and clip it around my neck. Addie stares at me for a few seconds before she bursts out laughing. I'm… I'm very confused…

"Just add some cat ears and you could be the poster boy for gay BDSM relationships," She cackles, clucking at her stomach with one hand and wiping tears from her eyes with the other.

"I don't understand…" I say slowly.

She winks at me. "Let's keep it that way, kitty cat."

**Jutter, Age 17, District 3**

"Hey, it's going to be alright," I say, crouching next to Lina. She sits curling up in the corner, sobbing, her wild, knotted hair falling in her face. She sinks her nails into her arm until it draws blood, screeching. My eyes growing wide, I grab her hand and it immediately goes limp. She freezes and goes silent, her tear-filled blue eyes wide behind strands of hair. Her mouth is half-open as she stares at me.

"Remember what our mentors said?" I say slowly, approaching this carefully. "He said that the other tributes are on this train, too. They could walk in at any moment, right? You don't want them to see you look this, do you?"

She hesitates for a moment, gazing downwards, before nodding and wiping the tears from her cheeks. I smile and offer her my hand, helping her up. I say, "See? It's all going to be alright."

Suddenly, she leaps forward. At first I think she's going to attack me, but then I realize she's captured me in a tight embrace. Her skin is so scarred and cold…

"She won't get out of my head," She sobs into my chest.

"Who?"

"Madilynn," She cries. "It's all my fault… it's all… my fault!"

"No, its not your fault," I say, wrapping my arms around her, stroking her hand with my right hand, trying to be as comforting as possible. Her sobs grow a little quieter, but they still escape her lips in quick, uneven breaths. "It's going to be okay."


	5. Too Late For Gods- Tribute Parade

**Well, mon petite chou, 'tis the tribute parade! The song in this chapter is Too Late For Gods by AFI. Its the same band that did the song Prelude 12/21, which was one of the chapters for The Kill. Today we've learned that I'm still not very good at describing costumes. In your review, tell me your predictions! Who do you think will be allies? Who do you think will be in a realationship? Who do you think are going to be sworn enemies? Give me some feedback, ma peeps! :D**

* * *

**Anais, Age 15, District 8**

I hold my breath, determined not to make a sound as my stylist looks over every inch of my body, hunting down my every flaw with his merciless, narrowed gaze. I can feel my heart beating so fast that I'm amazing he cannot hear it. My hair has been pulled back into a tight ponytail that hurts my scalp, and I wear only a paper dress, goose bumps forming across my bare legs due to the icy air.

My stylist turns around, his long trench coat swishing behind him as he walks out of the room, boot heels clicking against the gray-tiled floor. The heavy door closes behind him soundly. I double over, clutching at my stomach, but the feel of my body pressed up against my hands makes me feel even worse.

_Come with us_

Yesterday, my district partner, Riann, asked me, "Why aren't you eating anything?"

I replied, "I'm not hungry." Unconsciously, I had wrapped an arm across my stomach. His eyes were drawn to it and I immediately felt my face heat up.

"Why is it," He said, half to himself, still staring at my arm. "That the prettiest people always think they're the ugliest?"

I didn't even know how to respond. I just stood there, shocked, with my mouth half open and me probably looking like a complete idiot. Riann smiled but it didn't quite reach his eyes. "I'm sorry," I said, glancing away and letting my arms fall to my sides. I didn't know what to do with them so they just hung there awkwardly. "I didn't mean to upset you."

"Oh, no," He shook his head. He glanced around nervously, before rolling up his sleeve. My eyes grew wide as I saw his wrists, covered in scars. "I've been upset since long before I met you."

_To the water, where we celebrate poolside_

I wipe the tears from my face hastily as my stylist walks in but I'm sure it's too late; he already saw. He pretends he didn't, though, wheeling in a silver clothes wrack with only one outfit on it, covered in plastic wrapping. Within a few minutes, I'm dressed in a huge Victorian-era gown. The skirt puffs out to almost three times my size, and the royal blue fabric is silky against my skin. The corset is tied with the same black lace that the arms end in, in a puff of net-like layers. My stylist steps forward to gently place a diamond tiara on my head. "You are very pretty."

_Silver line, sons and daughters_

His hands fall and I reply, "I don't like being lied to."

_Take a big dive_

He shakes his head. "The beautiful always think themselves ugly, and it's such a pity. But, I suppose, those who are beautiful on the outside and know this, are often not beautiful on the inside, and therefore not beautiful at all." With this, he offers me a hand, and leads me out of the room.

_Celebrate before rejection_

**Noah, Age 17, District 9**

"Hold still," The lady with the pin-straight orange hair growls while the other two prep team members hold me down. Salty tears sting my eyes as I struggle against them, trying desperately to get off the cold examination table. I can hear the rushing of the blood in my ears and my entire body shakes with panic and adrenaline. I feel leather straps snapping around my limbs, and the two who had been holding me down step back. I pull hard against the cuffs, but they won't move or snap.

The man with all the piercings reads off a clipboard, "Homosexual and emotionally unstable… brainwashed by his late rebel parents… violent outbursts when examined on tables or strapped down."

_Before this pool_

"Well, that would explain why he stabbed be with a pair of tweezers," Frowns the man with tattoos covering his whole body. "He isn't going to cooperate."

"Well," The woman says as she trims my black hair. "We're just going to have to make him cooperate."

It's a long process of attacks, restraints and panic attacks. Half the time, I'm not even sure what's going on. I keep having flashbacks of the asylum, procedure after procedure that I had to undergo there. Once, they tried to drill into my head, saying that it would make room for the sanity, and another time they attached leaches to my arms, hoping that it would 'suck out the gay' in me. Images of blood and surgical knives dance in my mind until everything goes black.

_Shows our reflection too well_

I wake up in a cold sweat, laying on a table but not strapped down anymore. My eyes flash open and I sit up abruptly, my head throbbing. I'm in an empty metal room with only a mirror at one end and a black door at the other. I dangle my legs off the table and stand up slowly, making sure not to fall. I'm dizzy, but recover quickly. I'll be alright. By the feeling of it, I've only been out for ten minutes or so. Glancing in the mirror, I find myself in a tank top-like shirt with sleeves that cut off just before they reach my shoulders, made of a rough fabric the same color as wheat. A red scarf wraps around my waist, working as a belt. The pants are kind of poofy, much to my distaste, and end in a red strip of elastic that matches the belt, clinging to my legs.

I look horrible in this color.

I hear a creak behind me and whirl around to see a nervous-looking woman with very light blonde hair. She's dressed in an all-black outfit, her pointy face as white as snow. She wears no makeup or jewelry.

_Diamond impressions lay where we fell_

"Do not worry," She says. She has a strange accent, even more so than most of the Capitol citizens. "We are done preparing you, we were just waiting for you to wake up… my name is Yolanda, I am your stylist… you must get to the tribute parade now. You are late for being early."

"So…" I say slowly as I step past her out into the hallway. It's long, seemingly endless, with metal walls lined with doors and a blue-tiled floor. There aren't any windows in sight. "I'm on time then?"

_Without digression_

"Yes," She nods as she leads me down the hallway, her flats making no sound against the spotless floor. We walk for several minutes in heavy silence until we reach a door at the end of the hallway with a large, orange circle roughly the size of a basketball painted on it. She stops in front of the door and turns to me. "I was told to tell you to act quiet, but with a sort of rebellious air about you."

"What does that mean?" I furrow my brow.

_All the questions they'll ask_

She shrugs, "Heck if I know. That's just what they told me. Now get on out there. You look great."

She opens the door and nudges me through, the metal slamming soundly behind me. I stand in a huge stable filled with chariots, all lined up in preparation for the parade. About half the tributes are here and I can't help but get overwhelmed by all the hype. This is the first time we will have all been in a room together; the first time we will see each other in person. First impressions count.

And I am dressed in a Safari tour guide outfit the same color as a hot dog bun.

I shake my head and take a deep breath. I need to chill out and stop being so anxious all the time. I just need to calm down. It's not like this whole thing is that big a deal. Wow, I'm an idiot, this is a huge deal. But not the behind-the-scenes part, just the actual parade is important. Right?

"Thou seem tense…" I hear a voice say next to me, and I jump. I didn't hear him walking up to me. I glance over at him, and find a tall boy, several inches taller than I am, standing over me, a cat's collar around his neck and a curious look on his face. He's dressed in an all-white suit, and is rather lanky, with long legs and skinny limbs. He's got a handsome face, though, and eyes as dark as shadows that glint dangerously. They're almost intriguing, but intimidating at the same time. "You are staring…"

"Oh," I feel my face flush and I look away instantly.

"I am Prestwick," He says, doing a dramatic little bow. "And who might you be?"

"Err, Noah," I saw, snapping myself out of my little shock.

''Tis nice to meet you," He smiles. His teeth are almost unnaturally white and straight. "If it's alright for me to ask… how are thou in here?"

"What do you mean?" I frown.

"Thou seem much saner than any of the others," He admits, motioning over his shoulder at the other tributes that have already arrived. He's right. There's a girl blowing bubbles and laughing hysterically every time they pop, and there's a ginger girl stalking around and growling at people. Now I'm really nervous to meet them.

_Were we raised this way?_

I glance back at him and explain, "Homosexual. Violent outbursts. Nothing special."

"Oh?" He raises an eyebrow.

"What?"

"'Tis nothing," He says dismissively. We stand in silence for a second. He glances back and forth between me and the other tributes before making a sweeping motion towards the chariots. Everything he does so overly dramatic, but it makes him more inviting, and a little less terrifying like those dark eyes make him out to be. "Care to walk?"

"Sure," I say immediately, partially because I really don't want to have to walk over there alone, and partially because I enjoy Prestwick's company. We walk at a leisurely pace and I ask, "What about you? How did you get in the Reaping bowl?"

His smile fades, replaced by a look of sadness, "'Tis the fate of every witch, in District Six."

I blink at him. "Witch?"

"Indeed," He sighs. "Six is a place of paranoid fear. They've reverted to the beliefs of long ago, where everyone who was not of the norm was cast out and feared. So they claimed that I was strange, that I was evil and crazy, and after they tried to burn me at the stake, they threw me behind asylum bars."

_Such a promising past_

"Sounds a bit familiar," I say, looking at the ground. And even though they never attempted to burn me at the stake, I know for a fact how it feels to be hated because you're different. People fear things that they don't understand, and fear distorts a person until you can't even recognize them anymore.

"I do not need people anyway," Prestwick says, straightening up. A somewhat sadistic look crosses his face and I consider backing away. "'Tis would be a great idea to just kill them all off. No people, no problem."

I laugh a little when I realize he's kidding. Or at least, I think he is. "If it were that easy, someone would have gone through with that long ago."

He sighs. "I suppose."

_Mayday_

**Zayne, Age 17, District 2**

"This is degrading," I mutter to myself as I walk down the line of chariots towards District Two's designated location. We're in a huge room with a sloping ceiling far overhead, and a black curtain as the left wall. The chariots are lined up facing the curtain, starting with District One and ending with District Twelve. The other three walls are lined with supplies for the chariots as well as the horses, and grim-looking peacekeepers guard the doors. People dart this way and that, scurrying around like startled ants whose mound has been kicked over. If I wasn't in this outfit, it would be humorous.

My stylist put me in a caveman outfit, complete with bare feet and a stone hammer. It's a simple animal-print cloth wrapped around my waist, showing off my chest and abs. The only part of the outfit that I'm fond of is the necklace, made of actual human bones.

_Go down in glory_

I reach District Two's chariot and find Sierra already there, sitting calmly on the ground. She looks up in annoyance when I arrive. Her stylist fashioned her dress from the same cloth, and drilled two small holes in the back at the base of the spine so Sierra could clip her wolf tail on.

"This is pathetic," I frown, sitting down next to her. She growls at me, but I ignore her. "This is simply for the Capitols delight; it has nothing to do with the Games. They should be judging us on our survival skills, not our superficial appearances. But I suppose they will get to those, too."

Sierra draws back her lip, revealing sharpened canine teeth. I wonder if that hurt. Honestly, I wonder what pain feels like at all, and why it bothers people so much. They say that blind people see when the dream, but I've never felt pain in mine… I have no idea what its like. Something in me doesn't want to know, but at the same time, I'm overrun by an unsatisfied curiosity. But there isn't really any way to know… the only thing for me to do is to hurt others, and imagine what agony must be tearing through them.

_What did I tell you, I promised they'd take me, too_

"Tributes," An overhead, computerized voice says. "Please mount your chariots. We launch in sixty seconds."

"Come on, Howler," I say to Sierra, standing up and leaping onto the Chariot. Sierra jumps up soundlessly next to me, and I can't help but notice that she's standing as far away from me as she can. I don't mind, though. It's only natural for those with souls to try to escape the presence of a demon.

**Kimberley, Age 17, District 4**

"Conan, Imma fish!" I yelp happily, spinning in circles.

"I see," He replies, not even looking up from the books that one of the Avoxes leant him.

"You didn't even look," I pout. It took quite awhile to put my outfit together. I had to sit still for two whole hours! It's a leotard of fish scales. After my stylist put it on, she took a fancy marker of some sort and drew scales, that matched the scales on the costume perfectly, all up and down my limbs until they faded out towards my hands and feet, so it'd look like that was my entire outfit. She gave me fake eyelashes with water droplets, and all of my skin has been temporarily tinted green to match the scales. Conan is the same, except instead of the eyelashes he has one of those weird ridge back things, like the ones some fish and lizards have… you know?

"I saw earlier," He replies calmly, flipping the page in his book.

"Forty seconds," The overhead voice says.

Someone in the distance yells, "The voices!"

"Aren't you gonna put that book down while we're out there doing the parade?" I tilt my head to the side.

_Down with the heroes before me_

"I suppose," he sighs. I notice for the first time how dark his eyeliner and mascara were done, causing his grey eyes to glint from the shadows. He closes his books and hands it to a nearby Avox, instructing them to leave it in his room. He straightens up and steps forward, placing his hands on the bar in front of us. His expression is blank as he glances off to the clock that's counting down to the launch, his eyes narrowed dangerously. He's half a head taller than me, and I'm pretty tall. He's not buff, but he's fit, and his presence always seems to make the room more intense and serious.

"You look evil," I note. He glances at me with his uniform poker face. "You're finally showing your true colors."

"Perhaps," He says. I look at him in surprise. Noticing that there are only ten seconds left, I give him a giant bear hug for good luck. He looks shocked, which is seriously the first emotion I've ever seen him show. He opens his mouth to say something, but before he can, we're already set in motion.

_What did I tell you, I promised I'd give you a story_

**Katya, Age 17, District 6**

As we pull out past the black curtain, I'm temporarily blinded by the light and deafened by the roaring sound of the crowds. It passes quickly, however, and I find myself on a narrow path, flanked by monumental seats of screaming Capitol citizens, covered from head to toe in bright colors and crazy designs. I wonder if they would last longer than a District citizen, if they had both been cut open and left to die of blood loss.

_They say nothing was found_

I raise my right hand high, in a sort of elegant wave. I'm dressed in a gown that clings to my body. It's made of heavy dark blue fabric, and covered in sparkling lights to simulate the night sky. It's meant to represent how, long ago, sailors navigated the waters using the location of the stars. Since District Six is the district of transportation, it's only fitting, though I doubt many Capitol citizens will get the connection. My red hair has been done up in a tight bun. I look quite exquisite.

My district partner, Chris, wears a sweet smile, much unlike my own which is full of venom and bloodlust. He keeps talking to himself, saying he's talking to his brother. He has both dual-personalities, and schizophrenia. People with those diseases have been known to be incredibly dangerous. However, judging by what I've seen him do, he won't last long. He'll go into the bloodbath and will be cut open and left to die, his intestines hanging out of him. He'll last a good while like that, though, since people can last decent amounts of times with their guts outside their bodies. But he'll only last until it attracts the animals, and they'll pick him apart until he finally passes.

_When we hit the ground_

I can't wait.

**Piper, Age 12, District 10**

I wave enthusiastically to the audience, grinning as much as I can. I hope it looks strange, because that's the goal. I'm dressed in a silly cow dress, and eight-inch high heels, a pair of cow ears on my head and my nose painted black. Along with this, I wear a pair of mittens that look like hooves, and spots were drawn on my arms and legs, even after the dress ended.

_Did I forget to say…_

Next to me, Castiel waves much more timidly. He smiles, but it appears nervous, and he flinches with every bright flash of light. His eyes look scared, and his cow suit was made purposefully to be a size too big on him. The entire outfit makes him look rather small, and if I didn't know better, I would think he was just an innocent little kid.

But Castiel is far from innocent.

I had been speaking to Abby and she told me that I needed to go tell him something, so I went to his room. The door was open and when I went inside, I saw him standing over by the window. Somehow a butterfly had gotten into his room and was tapping up against the glass trying desperately to get out. I thought he would have opened the window to release it, but that isn't what happened. He brought his palm down hard on its head and it smashed open, dark blood splattering the glass. I watched in shock as he pulled the wings apart and studied them with an apathetic expression.

The crowd goes crazy for him, though, and I wish I could tell them that Castiel is not what he seems.

_Mayday_

**Zachary, Age 14, District 12**

I glance over at Marcelline, who is dressed in a matching coal miner's uniform. As we ride past the cheering Capitol people, she reaches into a backset, pulling out little packages and throwing them into the audience. I'm not sure what they are, but I know that the stylist didn't give them to her, and neither did the mentors. Picking one up, I rip off the top to examine the contents. Condoms with her name written on them in glow-in-the-dark letters… that's what she's been throwing at the audience. Dear god, why.

"What are these?!" I shout over the wind.

"Condoms, genius," She replies with a psycho giggle, throwing more into the crowd. "Haven't you heard the slogan—what was it again? Oh right—_don't be silly, wrap your willy_!"

"That's messed up," I say, staring at her in shock.

"Its business," She says, bopping me on the nose before doing a little bow to the crowd. "Ma mentor told be to make them remember me. So now, they'll remember me even when they're doing it!"

"You're insane," I murmur, waving to the crowd with my third hand.

_Go down in glory_

"We're all insane here, mon petit chou."

"Did you just call me your little cabbage? In French?"

"Maybe," She says slowly. Our chariot comes to an abrupt stoop and I look up to see that we've pulled up in front of a massive building made of smooth, gray rock. Stone pillars hold up a balcony far above our heads, and a single man with silver hair stands alone there. His face is quickly splattered across the flat screens, revealing the man to be the one and only President Snow.

"Welcome!" His voice booms out over the audience. "Tributes, we welcome you! And may the odds be ever in your favor."

_What did I tell you, I promised they'd take me, too_

**Cash, Age 18, District 1**

I let out a sigh of relief as we pull into the stable and out of sight of the crowd. The horses trot to their location and the carriage halts. I look over at Sharada who is staring off into the nothingness once again. During the parade she continually just stood there with a black expression while she was supposed to be waving to the audience. I had to keep elbowing her to remind her what was going on. "Sharada, you can get down now."

"Oh, right, sorry," She smiles, stepping down off the chariot. I join her on ground level. We're in toga-like outfits bedazzled with sparkly, and more importantly expensive, jewels of all colors and values. I know they're real, because I can recognize a fake from a mile away. All together, I'm not even sure how much these would be worth, but I can guarantee it's a lot.

"Alright, here you go," My stylist says, appearing next to me with folded clothes in her arms. I take them, giving her a little nod as thanks. "You can change in one of those rooms."

I head to one of the doors she motioned to and step inside. It's a small, cement room with no windows, only a bench up against the far wall. I throw my clothes down on it while I slip out of the toga. I step into the brown cargo pants and the gray T-shirt that's a little too tight before picking up the toga again. Carefully, I twist several of the jewels from across the outfit until they're free from the tread. Only a few minutes pass and I have a handful of jewels. I eye them greedily before stuffing them into my pocket and walking out of the room. I hand the costume to my stylist. She doesn't say anything.

"He took the jewels," I hear a cold, female voice say to my stylist. In the reflection of one of the chariots, I recognize her as the girl from District Six, Katya Amane.

"He did what?!" My stylist yells. I snap my head around, making a point to walk faster. I reach the elevator and glance behind me, wondering why there isn't a screaming fashionista chasing me down. Katya's hand is rested on her shoulder, stopping her from coming after me.

"Don't bother," She says with her uniform poker face. "He won't live long enough to do anything with them."

I'm not sure whether to feel threatened, or what, but I've realized one thing… the tributes that stand here today are much more dangerous than any of years past.

_Down with the heroes before me_

_What did I tell you, I promised…_


	6. Training Day One - Shadows

**Long time no see. So I could waste your time explaining where on Earth I have been, but instead I'll just give you the short version because I know you don't really care that much: Computer problems, Tumblr, school, people problems, doctor, The Doctor, several other new Fandoms and an All-American Rejects concert.**

**So the story is back from its temporary, unofficial hiatus! Sorry this chapter isn't as long as you might have wanted, but I was having trouble... thinking. Just wait for the next chapter, though. I got stuff planned. Please remember to review! :D**

* * *

**Zayne, Age 17, District 2**

As the elevator comes to a stop and the doors slide open, I puff out my chest and hold my head high. First impressions are everything, and today is not just the day I get to really meet the rest of the Careers but I also the first time the gamemakers get to see us up close, without everyone else around. I need to look good. Of course, I always do, but I need to make them see the power I hold inside of me.

I take my first steps into the training room, the sound of my feet against the ground echoing in the silence. Sierra follows me soundlessly, along with District Ten and District Eight, who had been riding in the elevator with us. The room is dark and grey, smelling of bleach. Its massive, the long walls lined with stations, the center of the room covered by things like archery ranges and obstacle courses. On the left wall, the gamemakers sit in an overlooking room, glancing over at us as we enter. I send them a smirk; one that I hope lets them know that this year I _will_ be their victor.

"Everyone, come stand over here," A woman says, beckoning us towards her. She introduces herself but I don't pay much attention, seeing as I'm only going to be seeing her for three days. Demons as powerful as I find no need to listen to the mortals jabber on, as if they think what they have to say is actually relevant. It makes me chuckle.

The elevator door opens again. Districts Five and Seven enter the room, but I'm paying much more attention as District One steps into the room with them. The boy, Cash, scans the room. When he sees me he nods and puts on a somewhat friendly smile. He starts to make his way towards me, but the girl seems to have drifted off. Halfway to us, he glances back to see she isn't following.

"Sharada," He says sharply, and she snaps out of it, scurrying after him. Cash reaches out a hand as he joins us and I shake it, squeezing it and giving him a look that should say we'll get along fine, as long he doesn't get in my way. He understands and nods, not seeming to have much of a problem with it. "My name is Cash."

"I know who you are," I say smugly. He seems slightly annoyed at this, but I don't care about his agitation. I turn my attention to the girl. "And you, my dear?"

She's staring off into space again, her expression blank except for her eyes, which flutter around wildly, but don't seem to be looking at anything in particular. I give her a little push on the shoulder and she wavers, but goes back to standing just as she was, like a tree that had been pushed by the wind.

"Sharada," Cash says.

"Oh, I'm Sharada," She smiles, grinning and giving me a little wave. I scan her up and down, trying to figure out if she'll be of much use. She doesn't seem as if she meant to end up a Career, and she cant even keep herself in reality long enough to say hello.

The rest of the tributes begin to file in until everyone except Four and Eleven have arrived. I hear the elevator doors slide open and look over from where I'm talking to Cash. Coming towards me is a tall boy, even taller than I am, with slick black hair, calculating grey eyes and an almost unnervingly blank expression. I straighten up as he walks towards me, my usual smirk falling from my face.

"My name is Conan Berkley," He says, dipping his head to me.

"I'm Kimberley!" The District Four girl squeals bouncing over with an unnaturally wide grin.

I nod, "I'm aware… it's nice to meet you. My name is-"

"Zayne Xempia," He interrupts, placing one hand on his hip and brushing dark bangs out of his face with the other. He continues, "Age seventeen, District Two, placed in the asylum due to Cotard's Syndrome, delusions, and cannibalistic tendencies. You have no token, and when you were thirteen your father was mysteriously murdered and the killer was never found, though I suspect it was you. When you were fifteen you trapped your girlfriend in your bedroom and ate her alive. Your brother reported you to the asylum and that's where you've been ever since."

"How did you…?" I trail off, impressed.

"I have my sources," He replies, emotionless face never changing.

"Hmm," I say slowly. I point to the smallest tribute in the room, a twelve year old boy from District Eleven. "What do you know about him?"

"Castiel Mindow, age twelve, District Eleven," Conan says instantly. "Placed in the asylum for an obsession with dead creatures. His token is a necklace with an _A_ on it to symbolize his atheism. His mother is extremely ill and his father abandoned them when the boy was three. He is a known grave robber, though after being in the asylum for two weeks they declared him cured. It is said that he never went back to robbing graves after being released."

I grin and clap Conan on the back. "I think we're going to get along just fine."

**Riann, Age 15, District 8**

As soon as the head trainer releases us, the crowd parts, and I turn in the direction of what appears to be some sort of matching game. I slip past people, glancing anxiously at every one of them. They'll be my enemies soon and we'll all be trying to kill each other… and in the end, twenty-three of us will be dead. Only one will survive.

I approach the screen cautiously, looking over it. It's mounted on the wall and rather large, with a touch-screen table directly in front of it. The background is white, and it's covered with rows of black plants. They are all in pairs, completely different from the rest except for one that looks identical to it, somewhere else on the grid. The trainer standing beside it explains that it's a test of intelligence and memory. You get a minute to find as many pairs as you can. She asks if I would like to try it, and I say yes. She gives me a look as if she doesn't think I can do it, but what she doesn't know is that I've already memorized the entire board.

A clock counts down from three, and when it hits one my fingers go flying across the touch-screen, and the images begin to disappear at a rapid pace. It doesn't take long, only forty seconds until the screen has been left completely white. I turn to the trainer, who seems to be in a state of shock. It takes her a few seconds to shake herself from it before she stutters congratulation to me.

I give her a weak smile before turning to scan the room. Immediately my eyes rest upon the three Career boys. The tallest, from District Four, stares at me with a blank expression, his head slightly tilted to the left. The blonde boy, from District One, is gaping in disbelief. Zayne, meanwhile, is grinning at me sadistically, as if he plans on having me as his next meal. I uncomfortably avert my gaze from the Careers in search of somewhere to go. I spot Anais on the other side of the room and walk as quickly as I can to join her, without looking too rushed. I sit down next to her in the Knots Station, and study her mess of a knot.

"Oh, I'm just not any good at this," She smiles, shaking her head.

"Do you want help with that?" I suggest, reaching towards the knot. The training uniforms have short sleeves, leaving my scars uncomfortably exposed. It's unnerving for them to be out in the open this way, but I have no choice. Besides, we're all mad here, anyhow.

"No, no, it's fine," She giggles. "I've got to learn anyway, right? If I'm going to be all alone in the arena, I need to learn to do things for myself, while other people are hunting me down trying to kill me. Isn't that a funny thought?"

"Why are you acting so weird, Anais?" I ask, furrowing my brow. She laughs, but it seems hollow. "You know you don't have to pretend around me, right?"

"Yeah. I know." The smile slowly fades from her face to be replaced by a thin line. Her forehead wrinkles up and a strand of blonde hair falls in her eyes. I reach over and tuck it behind her ear. Taking her chin softly in my fingers, I gently turn her head towards mine.

"And you aren't going to be alone in the arena, alright? I'm going to be right there next to you the whole time. I promise. Okay?"

She nods, looking me in the eyes for the first time. "Okay."

**Chris, Age 17, District 6**

"_Look at that girl over there_," My twin says in my head, and my eyes dart over to the twelve year old girl from District Eleven, Piper, as she takes a piece of bread from the food cart and smiles at it warmly. "_It'd be fun to watch her catch on fire, and be burned alive. Just watching her scream as the flames licked away her flesh. It'd be great_."

"No it wouldn't," I say out loud and the kid behind me gives me a weird look. Grabbing a bowl of some sort of soup, I quickly step out of the line and whisper, "that would be horrible, she didn't do anything wrong."

"_So_?"

I glance around. There are lots of open tables since I was one of the first people in line. I don't know any of the people who are sitting so I glance back at the line. The only person I know is Katya, and I'm pretty sure she wants to kill me, so I sit alone at the back of the room, and take a sip of my soup. It's burning hot so I spit it out back into the bowl, wiping my face with my napkin and swallowing some water.

"_You're a failure_,"

"Shut up," I say.

"_You deserve to be in these Games_,"

"Shut up," I say louder now, picking up my fork and digging it into the wooden table.

"_You deserve to die_,"

"Shut up!" I shout, standing up and clutching at my head, my eyes watering. Everyone turns to look at me, and I take shallow breaths as I dart towards the bathroom, my head throbbing. "Get out of my head!"

**Karri, Age 18, District 7**

The second they release us from lunch, I know where I'm going. I've been keeping myself from it all day, but now I just can't wait any longer. I've been worried that I wouldn't be good at it somehow, even though I know I will be. It's silly of me.

After a quick demonstration from a trainer, I wrap my fingers around the black wood of the staff and twirl it around in my hand, getting a feel for the size and weight. After a few seconds I strike out, bringing it down on one of the targets, hitting it perfectly. I spin and kick one of the punching bags before giving it a sharp blow to the chest, and then hitting a human-shaped target in the neck, cleanly wiping its head off. It bounces across the room and rests at the feet of my district partner, Riley. He looks from me to the head and back again, before a goofy grin falls across his face.

"That was so cool!" He exclaims, picking up the head and tossing it to the trainer, who looks a little taken aback.

"Yeah, I guess," I say, turning away from Riley, not wanting to look at him.

"How'd you do that?" He asks.

I shrug.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah," I say, a little irritated. "I'm fine."

"You don't seem fine," He says, placing a hand on my shoulder. I shrug it off. He looks confused as I turn away, walking quickly to a different station. As I go, I force away the clouds of sadness creeping up like tendrils in my heart. I'm sorry, Riley… but I can't afford to get attached to someone. Not here.

**Jezebel, Age 17, District 10**

The sound of the knives whizzing through the air is enough to take me back to that night… that horrible night. And the thuds they make as they hit the targets, almost all of them perfectly on the spot, brings the memory of blood dancing onto my vision and though my face remains placid, my hands begin to shake.

"_I'm just trying to help you!" My mother shouts, grabbing my wrist far too hard, sending a sharp pain searing through my arm. She knows the cuts are there, every one, because each day when I get home she forces me to show her my wrists. I push her away from me and she stumbles backwards, looking furious._

"_You're killing me!" I scream back at her, hot tears racing down my face._

"_You're killing yourself!" She shrieks, and I back myself up against the kitchen counter as she continues, "You aren't even trying to get better!"_

_My hand bumps against a knife handle, and wraps itself around the wood. But instead of bringing the blade down on my own skin, like I've done so many times before, I propel it through the air, right into my mother's heart. She lets out a gasp and rips it free from her chest, sending drops of blood spurting into my eyes. Her knees buckle and she slams to the floor, her head cracking open on the tile and thick liquid sprinkling my bare feet._

_My eyes widen and my heart pounds so fast I fear it might break free of my chest. All I can hear is a dull ringing, and the pounding of the blood in my ears. Every shadow seems to darken but I can't tear my eyes away from the limp form of my mother to watch them crawl from underneath countertops and through the windows. A man steps into the doorway, most likely my father but I can't be sure as the world has gone blurry. I feel a sense of weightlessness as I collapse to floor next to where she laid, her eyes turned to glass and her skin grown cold. I barely feel myself hit the ground._


End file.
